A Smile From Slytherin
by powergirll
Summary: Mayella is Marcus Flint's little sister, Slytherin seventh year, daughter of a Death Eater, and studying for the NEWTs. With all that going on, what happens when Oliver Wood steps into the picture? Certainly nothing good... OW/OC
1. Diagon Alley

**A Smile from Slytherin**

_A/N: Okay, now to explain stuff. Oliver and Mayella are in seventh year and so is Marcus since he stayed back. It takes place in Harry's third year and I will be following events in the story. This is my first fan fic ever! R&R._

I can't believe I actually said that.

Hopefully there are some improvements in A Smile From Slytherin this time around because I was looking back at this story and I swear, every two seconds I was cringing like you wouldn't believe.

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J.K Rowling. I am not making money off of anything. It's all just for fun. Don't sue me. I am only saying this once.

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**Chapter 1: Diagon Alley**

We were always close in age yet always so different. He thrived in the air, loved heights, loved to fly and loved anything that included a broom. That was his specialty. I remember every day during the summer, when he hadn't gone out with his friends the previous night, he'd wake me up early just to drag me out of bed to fly with him. Quidditch was just a plus of his flying though it never really appealed to him like the freedom of soaring through the air did.

However, I was not someone who enjoyed Quidditch. It was too violent, too shallow and too useless. I felt like the only Roman not going to the Coliseum to watch the games. I amused myself by calculating curves of throws and solving mathematical equations. For that reason, but mostly for the sake of my brother,I would swallow my apprehension and pretend to enjoy it. All for him.

I usually did things like that for him.

I did like to watch him fly though. He was so graceful and precise, his exact turns causing his black hair to flurry back and forward and whichever way he intended it to but never in his face. As always, he'd have that sly, surreptitious smirk on his features that he saved for games. It was that smirk that signaled to me and, most of the time, his team mates that he was up to something and that something was always fun for us, and never good for the opposing team.

As children of the pureblood elite, it was all about having fun.

Marcus was not one to be the impassive Slytherin statue like most of us though. If he wasn't carrying a smirk, it was a grin or a scowl or a sneer. Anger was a constant companion to the muscular mass of smooth skin and the occasional five o'clock shadow of Marcus's features. Anger came most easily to him. But it was that emotion that helped him to his victories in Quidditch games and propelled him to the top of the brutal Slytheirn hierarchy.

Not only did it benefit him but by association I was Slytherin royalty, an advocate of Slytherin beliefs whether I practiced them or not. To me of course, my true morals were practiced quietly. They were small actions: not tripping a mudblood as they passed, not sneering at the halfblood, not thinking myself higher than anyone else. Those minute details of my quest for detachment from my immoral background did not work.

I was drawn to my brother's world of self promotion and false sense of elite superiority. I still did not go out of my way to trip the mudbloods but it was now a common term of my expanding vocabulary. My nose was at it's record high by sixth year, using my blood and family name to get me what I wanted. My dreams of being an Auror were beginning to diminish into ones of being a housewife to some rich bachelor like most of the rest of my house. One thing I didn't have was my own list of exboyfriends. In fact, I was never a fan of men at all. Love was just over zealous lust. At least that's what I thought.

I suppose it started a week before the first day of my Seventh year. Marcus had been out with his friends the other night doing who knows what and couldn't seem to wake up.

"Marcus! Marcus get up!" I said, throwing a pillow at my older brother as I jumped on his bed. He groaned, pulling the blanket over his head. "Father said to be up by eight. It's _one_."

"Alright, alright! I'm up," he said throwing the pillow back at me causing me to crash down on his bed in a fit of giggles, mainly at his upturned hair. "Get out so I can change. And take your bloody cat with you. You know I'm allergic." Azure, my tabby cat, was on Marcus's bed biting his sheets.

He kissed my head then proceeded to push me off his bed amidst sneezes. We were the affectionate sort of siblings. Kisses and hugs were common when it came to us, more so than rough play was at least. Marcus didn't like to touch me in public though. Not hugs, not kisses, not playful hair ruffling. He had an appearance to uphold after all. In the pureblood world, appearance was everything.

At this point in our lives, Marcus was focused on appearing a big, tough Quidditch god while I was more focused on appearing like the innocent, mindless sister of the big, tough Quidditch god. It is not wise to have a mind of your own when your main priority in life was to marry the richest man who'll have you.

Anyone who knew me though wasn't fooled, especially with a look at my grades. I was near the top of my class (bloody Percy Weasley), I always quickly caught up with missed studies, I was a tutor, a prefect, and the epitome of high achiever. Again, I contrasted in my brother greatly when it came to academics which showed since he was staying back his seventh year. When he was supposed to be studying for NEWTs last year, he used the time showing off to the Quidditch scouts. I suppose it paid off in one way—he was accepted onto three different teams—but father forced him to redo his seventh year which was both a burden and a grace on me.

Marcus threw a pillow at me. "Out, May!"

Sighing dramatically, I picked up Azure and trotted downstairs to the dining room for lunch. My father, Victor Flint, was seated on one of the plush crimson seats discussing things with Lucius Malfoy who had just arrived a couple minutes ago. They were speaking in hushed voices and by that age I knew that meant they were discussing matters that were not fit for a girl of my stature to hear.

"He escaped Azkaban of all places, Victor, he's—"

"Mayella, dearest!" my father interrupted, rising from his seat with an overly happy smile. I forced a smile of my own, nodding my head toward Mr. Malfoy in greeting.

"Good Afternoon, Mr. Malfoy, pleasure to see you again," I practically recited. Courtesy was another aspect of my life I had perfected.

"Indeed," he said with boredom, inclining one of his perfectly arched blond eyebrows. Malfoys viewed themselves above faking emotions with private company. "How are you, Miss. Flint? Having a good summer?"

"Yes, it's enjoyable," I said unenthusiastically.

"Where's your brother?" my father asked. Right on cue, Marcus came downstairs, still yawning. It was obvious he didn't run a comb through his hair as a large blotch still stuck up at near verticality. His shirt wasn't tucked in or fully buttoned, his jeans were low on his waist and his shoes were untied, living up to the casual dishevelness he'd grown to be trademarked for. Asking for his heir was the first thing my father always did in the morning. "Ah, there's my boy. Marcus, you remember, Lucius, of course?" my father asked Marcus who nodded groggily.

"How can I forget? Especially after your generous donation to the Slytherin Quidditch team last year. We would have probably won the cup too if the finals weren't canceled because of that Weasley that was taken into the chamber," Marcus said bitterly, taking a seat. He never did get over missing the cup the previous year.

"Ah, yes and that Potter boy just had to go act hero," Mr. Malfoy said with shadowed contempt. "No worries, however, I'm sure you'll show him this year. I must be going now, Draco is waiting for me to take him to Diagon Alley."

"Bye, Mr. Malfoy," Marcus said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Tell Draco I said hi and not to throw away the magazines I gave him."

I smirked inwardly when Mr. Malfoy's eyebrows shot up and he did little to hide a scoff. I was pretty sure Marcus was oblivious to this but it was a well known fact that Mr. Malfoy thought Draco needed better role models than my brother of all people. With parting last nod, Mr. Malfoy disapperated.

"What were you talking about before with Mr. Malfoy, Father?" I asked as our house elf served Marcus some late lunch.

"Oh, nothing that you should be worried about dear.. Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban."

"What?!" I exclaimed, standing up. Marcus spit out his milk.

"He escaped? _How_?" Marcus asked.

"No one knows. Now don't worry about it you two, I just want you to worry about school work and Quidditch," Father said patting my back lightly, as if I was still five years old. Marcus frowned but shrugged, going back to his food but the mere thought of someone escaping from that place was still running through my mind.

"Lessons today father?" Marcus asked. He was referring to his training in the Dark Arts with Warden Macnair's son Hector Macnair and Terrence Higgs.

"Not today," my father answered with a slight scowl. "The Prophet wants another article on Black and everyone else has their hands full at the Ministry. It's a busy week, son. How are your applications to St. Mungo's coming along, May?"

I lied, shrugging for effect. "Oh, great father. Nearly done filling it all out. Just have to wait until after the NEWTs and after my recommendations are written until its official."

I was lying a lot. Truthfully, I had no intention of being something as dull as a caretaker or a nurse in St. Mungos. Where was the math in that? Yes, it was a proper job and yes, I'd probably have to give it up once I married my pureblood prince anyway but ever since I was young I had the dream of becoming an Auror. Once I became absorbed as Slytherin Royalty however, such dreams were put on hold. It was fifth year during Career Counseling with Professor Snape that my dreams were reawakened. Being an Auror however, was not something my father would approve especially with that skull and snake on his left arm.

"Good, good," he said stepping into the study. "Marcus, come in here. I need to show you something."

Marcus followed Father into the study and I rolled my eyes as he finished his food. Father was beginning to call Marcus into his study a lot lately. It started the beginning of last year with small little objects here and less than harmful curses there but soon, with some prodding from my father's fellow "business associates", Marcus became enamored in the world of the Dark Arts, from his lessons in the curses to his talks with Father. I didn't think much of it at the time—it was just harmless Durmstrang Dark Arts teaching methods—but everything has its limits.

"Father, are we going to Diagon Alley for school today or not?" I called into the study. No answer. I scowled, mainly because I had grown short tempered and slightly bitter at Marcus receiving all the attention though were just a year apart, and headed there myself.

The study could be mistaken for a medieval library. The walls were made of thick stones with portraits of old wizards and witches who pompously sneered at anyone who dare look at them hanging. There were dusty bookshelves of red oak filled with old books, some of which were never even opened because they were supposed to be cursed. There were desks stacked with old parchments that looked like they hadn't been touched in years. There was also a cabinet were father kept his Dark Objects. It was currently wide open.

Marcus and Father were talking in hushed voices, Father carrying a glass eye that he bought a Knockturn Alley last week. Even from where I was standing I could tell Father didn't look happy.

"What is it?" Father sternly asked me. Somehow my presence in the study always made him short tempered. My Father was exactly the opposite of those emotional "talk about your feeling" types. Unlike Marcus, he did not show any sort of emotion easily. I liked to think he felt bad whenever he caused me to cry which, unfortunately, was fairly often. My tears always seemed to shine through no matter how hard I tried to hold them back. I was terrible at keeping my composure when I was upset. When I was angry or happy it was easy but sadness was a complete different matter.

"Are we going to Diagon Alley today or not?" I asked.

"I told you I have to work today. Honestly May, pay attention!" he shouted as he roughly put the eyeball away. "I'm going to kill Borgin when I get my hands on him!"

Father stalked out of the study and Marcus and I followed. "Christmas, Marcus," Father began after an afterthought, turning to face him, "Christmas is when your training will advance to the Unforgivables."

Marcus would have beamed if Father wasn't there practically glowering before us.

"Christmas? Already?" I asked, frowning. Marcus raised a brow while Father scowled.

"What on earth are you talking about, Mayella? It's about time he starts. I started the moment I turned 17. Of course.. with the current situation... Christmas would be best."

"Yeah, I can't wait," Marcus said with a grin, looking over at me as if waiting for me to congratulate him. It was the same look he would give me after he had just beaten the tar out of a sarcastic Hufflepuff or after he had just been greeted with warm welcoming after putting his cheating methods in play.

"Yes," I said, forcing a smile. "I was just.. surprised is all. Congratulations, Marcus."

Father nodded, pleased with this answer and continued on his way up the stairs. Marcus kissed my head and followed him after a thank you. I watched him walk away with a frown. The last thing I wanted was my brother to learn curses that could put him in Azkaban for life, curses that made him a murderer, curses that I wanted to fight against the use of. I eventually sat down in the room, alone, until Marcus was right by my side again.

"Hey, May?" I heard him ask as he opened the door of the parlor in time to see my frown. "Are you okay?"

I quickly nodded, smiling smally. "Of course."

He scoffed, coming over and taking my hands. "You're a terrible liar, a horrible trait for a Slytherin you know."

I smirked as our hands begin to sway, something we hadn't done since we were children. "I'm working on it, really."

"You have to do better than that," he said smirking, our arms swaying faster. "Now tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing," I lied again though I knew he wasn't going to take that for an answer. "It's just sometimes I feel Father like despises me.."

Marcus frowned, the swaying slowing down. "Don't be daft, that's not true and you know it."

"But I feel as if it is!" I whined like a child, slowing down the swaying even more. "I feel like he can't even look at me without.."

"You just remind him too much of mother," he said quietly, the swaying ceasing. "Blonde hair, blue eyes, same face.. you're just like her."

"Doesn't he miss her?"

"Of course. That's why he doesn't want to be reminded of her. Now, come on. Father is waiting for us. He's taking us to Diagon Alley."

"I thought he had work."

"Rita Skeeter just owled saying she can take his story off his hands and he let her. Now, come on. The Firebolt is on display and I want to see that before it gets too crowded."

He led me out of the room hand in hand. I desperately did not want to let go of him just because the swaying had stopped.

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At Diagon Alley, which was packed as usual, father left us with about ten gallons each and went to talk to Mr. Parkinson and Mr. Goyle who had just dropped off their own children for school shopping. After we bought all our supplies for school, I persuaded Marcus to leave me alone and he went to Quality Quidditch Supplies to stare at the new Firebolt on display and I walked around to see what has changed since last year. Other than the wanted posters of Sirius Black everywhere and no one out after sunset, everything looked the same.

I walked alone, not for lack of company as I had recognized many of my classmates yet chose not to make myself known. Marcus would have preferred me to walk with someone but the bustling streets were crowded enough as it is and I did not need someone to keep up with. Marcus had developed a sort of over protective personality when it came to me. It was sweet in its own way but I had quickly come to detest it. At school he barely let me go to the bathroom alone.

I suppose I was partly to blame for this. I did enjoy going off by myself a lot and he tended to worry easily. It was my relationship with my last serious boyfriend which really sent Marcus over the edge. He sent him to the hospital wing for a week when he tried to go too far with me. Naturally, being the girl of morals that I was, I didn't stand for it and immediately got rid of him but when Marcus found out he was furious and took matters into his own hands. He tended to do that. After that incident, I never cared much for relationships.

It was at about that time, as I was passing the large crowd in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies, that I saw a man, about the same towering height as my brother with dark skin and a bald head walk past me. What really caught my eye was his badge. It wasn't just any badge either, it was a certified badge of a fully trained Auror. I gawked sice I have always wanted to see one of them and began running toward him. I wasn't sure why I was doing so—perhaps it was excitement perhaps just a reflex reaction—but I should have paid more attention to where I was going. Before I got even progressed three meters down the block, I bumped into someone and fell down hard on the ground.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, annoyed, from my place on the ground. I scowled, looking past the person I had bumped into to see that the Auror had disappeared into the crowed. "Thanks a lot, prat!"

"Hey yourself! You're the one who bumped into me."

I immediately recognized that voice and perked up. Standing in front of me with his muscular arm extending toward me, was Gryffindor's own pride and joy, Oliver Wood.

"I can do it myself," I spat as I stood, still angry that I had missed the Auror, perhaps the only Auror I would ever see if my father had it his way.

"Fine, just trying to be gracious since, you know, it _was_ my fault," he said sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Don't mock me. And yes it was," I stated brushing myself off, blushing slightly at the fact that my butt was probably covered in dirt. By reflex, I stuck my butt out and in retrospect my chest out as well, patting away the dirt. "How is it?" I asked then bolted my body back to it's default position which did not include my butt sticking out for Oliver Wood to have a perfect view of. I looked up horrified to see that Wood was staring. He noticed my flustered glare right after I reverted back to my normal position and showed a blush himself.

"I-It's very nice—I mean that's it's clean, nothing on it, it's perfectly.. perfect. As in _clean_ of course. Not that it isn't nice because it is, not that I was looking, um—"

"What is going on here?"

At this point, I didn't know whether to laugh or go pale at the sight of my brother and his cronies suddenly standing beside me. I chose embarassed indifference instead. Oliver's stuttering and blushing ceased and he exchanged a glare with Marcus.

"What are you doing with my sister, Wood? Is he annoying you, May? Because if he is, I could—"

"No, Marcus, really, it's fine," I said, allowing him and his sneering cronies to stand in front of me and block my view of Olvier. Warrington and Montague were beginning to advance toward Wood and my brother was doing nothing to stop it. I bit my lip, thinking that if they started something, Oliver would surely tell my brother that I was leading him on with my butt talk. Besides, duels in the streets was strictly against the rules. I pushed my way to my brother, taking a hold of his arm.

"Didn't you graduate last year?" Wood asked Marcus taking notice of the bag Marcus had in his hand filled with supplies for school. I could have sworn he was deliberately not looking at me.

"I decided to stay a while longer," Marcus said smiling devilishly, mainly at Warrington and Montague whose wands were out. "To kick your ass at Quidditch mainly. And to protect my sister from gits like you so don't look at her like that again or I rearrange your insides."

Oliver came closer to Marcus, as if challenging him, and was about to object when Marcus added, "Remember you are out numbered, Wood, and I can just call for back up." Already, most of the Slytherin Quidditch team was behind Marcus, wands out and itching for a fight. All they were waiting on was a word from Marcus.

"Wood, get out of here already," I ordered, stepping in front of Marcus with my arms crossed over my chest, resisting the urge to give my brother a scolding look. Oliver looked at me and nodded, giving Marcus another glare as he left. The Slytherin team groaned with disappointment but I ignored their complaints about my ruining the first fight of the year.

"You okay, May?" Marcus asked his tone getting softer as the team dispersed.

"I'm fine, Marcus. You didn't have to interfere. I could have taken take of it," I said frowning, my hand still over my chest.

"I know, I just wanted to make sure," Marcus said then added, "And to get on his nerves. You know how much I hate that idiot. Come on, I'll buy you a butterbeer."

"Alright," I said with a sigh, looking back at Oliver who was far along on his way.

"Ladies first," said Christopher Warrington as he held the door to the Leaky Cauldron open for me. I smiled at him and we took our seats. There were wanted posters of Sirius Black all over the place and it was getting very annoying seeing his disgruntled face on every wall.

We took our seats as the classic conversation about Quidditch was started. I began to tune them all out—hanging with boys always had its downsides—but soon I was too bored to function and I rose from my seat.

"Where are you going?" Marcus asked. "Need me to go with you?"

"No, Marcus," I answered with a sigh.

Ignoring anything else he might have wanted to add, or any of his friends he was about to assign to me, I walked to the bar and was about to order a butterbeer, when I heard a very loud strawberry blonde who spoke with her hands talking to her raven haired friend. I withheld a groan and turned around on the bar stool hoping they didn't recognize me. Six years with the same people, even in different houses, can do that.

"... Think Oliver looks very cute this year, huh, Wendy?" said Christa, a classmate of mine. She was heavily into Divination and the Faux Arts as I called them.

"Is it that obvious that I like him?" Wendy asked with a dreamy sigh, looking into her butterbeer as if it had all the answers for a perfect love life.

"More than obvious. But, I think he likes you too. Its like you two are like, soul mates, I mean, you have so much in common and he likes talking to you, AND I looked up both your star charts and you're in the same house!" she answered enthusiastically, tucking a lock of her raven hair behind her ear. Wendy looked pleased, that stupid smirk I would come to hate growing on her too small, too tan face.

"You better make your move soon. I heard his fan club has extended to Slytherin house and you _know_ what tramps they all are," Christa said and I flushed with anger. I was a Slytherin advocate through thick and thin, if not for myself then for my brother, and I would have hexed her right there if it had not been for my upbringing. She was half true though. Girls in my house do seem to be more promiscuous than in others.

"I know. George Weasley, you know, Percy's brother—"

"Who can forget those hilarious trouble makers?"

"Yeah, well he said a Slytherin bumped into Oliver this morning, just to show off her butt. It was no doubt on purpose just to get his attention."

"How desperate is she to resort to an 'accident'?"

"Pretty desperate especially since it was Marcus Flint's sister."

"No way, that Maryelle?"

"Yes, I can't believe her. I mean, aren't there enough horny guys in Slytherin house she can attempt to seduce?"

"I can't believe Flint's own sister is going for Oliver," Christa said, shaking her head as if it was a mortal sin. "How horrible of her."

"I know right, she almost got Ol crushed too," Wendy said with a frown.

"Oh poor Oliver. I'm sure you would love to go comfort him."

"Oh, you know I would," Wendy said as they let out a fit of giggles. I sat there with my mouth open in shock.

Before that point I had never heard any negative talk about me. Well at least nothing that went past "that bastard Marcus Flint's sister". I had lived in my own little bubble filled with my false sense of security that everyone loved me and nothing could touch me because my brother would touch them first. I could have done many things at that point but I chose to live up to the bitch people seemed to make me out to be.

"Excuse me," I said. Christa and Wendy turned around to face me.

"Yes?" Wendy, obviously not noticing who I was. She didn't even know my name and we were in three classes together to add insult to injury.

"You have something on your shirt," I said to her.

"Oh I do?" Wendy said, looking at her tacky shirt which was probably a Madame Malkin's "off the wand" design which everyone knew was for _poor_ people. I took out my wand. "I don't see anything."

"_Sordes_!" I shouted and Wendy's shirt was instantly drenched with mud including her gawking face. People nearby began to snigger, gasp or openly laugh. "My mistake."

"You—You..!" Wendy scowled and ran to the bathroom, Christa tailing behind her hiding her own giggles.

"Wendy, wait up! It's not _that _bad!"

I smiled smugly and walked back to my table, that smile not showing any signs of diminishing. "What's up with you, May?" Marcus asked as I sat down. Frieda, one of the more notoriously promiscuous girls in my year was on his lap feeding Marcus his food, much to my distaste.

"Nothing." I sat there in silence and listened to Marcus tell everyone how the Slytherins will whip Gryffindor's arse this year in Quidditch. At least, that's what he did when Frieda wasn't touching him. All of Marcus's girlfriends were basically clone copies of each other, the only difference being that the current one always had a worse reputation than the last. Of course I viewed my brother as handsome, but hearing other girls talking about him in ways that made me cringe was something I could never get used to.

I looked to another table where a newly clean Wendy and Christa were. I saw Christa kissing another Gryffindor in my year named Danny and Wendy flirting with Oliver. Though she was giving him about fifty signs that showed she was definitely interested, he wasn't biting and soon he rose from his seat and walked away, leaving Wendy alone to watch Christa and Danny snog.

I smiled to myself.

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**A/N: You may notice a few changes, my old readers. Tim is now Chris and I decided Mayella wasn't going to be virtually unknown. I figured these people have been in school together for six years, they're bound to know at least of each other by now. Speaking of my old readers, I love you guys, you got me back into this story, hope you especially enjoy it.**


	2. On the Train

**Chapter 2: On the Train**

Hogwarts had always been a home a to me ever since I first entered it's hallowed halls in my first year. The year before had been my first year living without my brother's watchful, ever present eye. It was for that reason and the fact that my father was never home and I was left with the house elves and the occasional family friend who came to check up on me, that I became enamored with reading. I had received a private, very well paid for education with a tutor every day so my reading skills were above the average muggle child. The books I was expected to be able to read were several grade levels high—sometimes too high—but I had always enjoyed the simple fairy tales even more than discussing the theme of classic British magical literature or squibs like Shakespeare who had just confused me.

It was those fairy tales that captivated me in the world of good and bad. The Grimm brothers were the only muggle stories I was really allowed to read just because they were pureblooded. Obviously blood traitors but of good blood none the less so my father found it acceptable. It was their story Hansel and Gretel that I could read over and over again for hours. Sometimes when it was thunderstorming late at night and I had no Marcus to whine to until he let me snuggle in bed with him, I would bring the book into bed with me and read it until I fell asleep, the storm becoming calmer and calmer with each turn of the page. It was things like that that made me miss Marcus even more.

Unfortunately, it was also things like that that really caused me to think seriously about a career as an Auror. The stories separated good and bad, clearly drawing a line between light and dark, nice and evil. Evil was pain, evil was death, evil was ugly cackles and evil witches who ate children, and good was happy, good was kind, good was a happy family reunited. When I entered Hogwarts, the fact that I was on the "evil" side of the school really got to me at first. From the way I was piled up on the "Slytherin side" of the classroom to the way I received glares and sneers from other houses, it further drew me away from my upbringing. I began going to the library more, reading books on Death Eaters and how _bad_ they were and positively _evil _they were. I even read the opinionated rubbish by outspoken morons writing to the the world about how they were just _so_ noble because they even thought the mere supporters of the Death Eaters deserved Azkaban for life.

It was then, at the tender age of eleven and a half, that I drew my own line between the two extremes. I wanted to be good, I wanted for people to know I was good and that I wasn't evil simply because a couple families in my House had relations with the Dark Lord. I wanted to be associated with the light, with the good father who wanted to save his children, not the evil mother who was only thinking for herself. That was why Auror training was so important to me.

However, like many childhood dreams, they become pushed back to make room for the shallow adolescent dilemmas of teen years. Suddenly, whatever I thought was good and whatever anyone else thought was evil.

While I made my way along side my brother and father to the Platform 9 ¾, these dilemmas included making sure my blonde hair was perfectly untangled and tidy as it hung down past my shoulders and making sure that my skirt was rolled a sufficient amount of times so that I could show off my slender legs without seeming trashy or desperate.

"Oh come on, Marcus, Father heard us," I whined after we said our goodbyes to father who was continuing to converse with Cornelius Fudge on a two way mirror about his thoughts on instituting a new Goblin tax for his next article as if we weren't there. "Can we please go now?"

The only thing I wanted to do was get on that train one final time and take in everything I could before it was too late and I'd be graduating. I would miss Hogwarts and no matter how much times I said I hated it when I got a bad grade, or when Peeves spilt a balloon filled with syrup on my head, or when I kicked Miss. Norris and got a week's detention, or when I tripped down the stairs taking half my year and dozens of paintings with me, I knew it would always be my second home.

"Wait a sec, May, just let me say one thing to him," Marcus said. He was tapping his foot on the floor while he waited for Father to look at him. After a minute of his annoying tapping and my impatience growing, Father quickly looked up and said his goodbyes. Obviously he was oblivious to the fact that we had already said good-bye to him three times previously.

"See you for the holidays and do well in school," he said as he hugged me awkwardly. My father was never a hug type but he didn't have to worry about at least one of his children in school.

"Father, will you be able to come and see me play Quidditch this year?" Marcus asked hopefully. I knew what was coming and I think that at the back of Marcus's mind, he knew the answer very well too.

"Oh, well, we'll see," Father said, taking out his quick quill note pad.

As I previously mentioned, Marcus was not like the average hard Slytherin who could hide his emotions easily. While I desperately couldn't hide it when I was sad, Marcus had trouble with hiding anger which he had replaced sadness with a long time ago.

"Oh. Okay," Marcus said through gritted teeth, heading toward the train and pushing several people out of his way as he did so. Father just took out his two way mirror again, turning to leave. I sighed at his inability to notice how disappointed his son was.

On the train, while Marcus was stealing a chocolate frog just for the sake of stealing (Marcus never had a sweet tooth), I found us an empty compartment near the back of the train. Either out of boredom or lingering fury, Marcus chucked the box at the back of someone's head, strolling into the compartment as I gave him a chiding look.

"Marcus," I scolded.

"Not now, May, I'm not in the mood," he growled bitterly as he ran his hands through his hair, plopping down on a seat. His temper was something I had gotten used to but that didn't stop my worry. Even though he was the favorite, Father always disappointed him every year when he made his "we'll see" promises. Always accustomed to a window seat, I squeezed myself in beside my brother, pushing him playfully as I did so but his smirk when I pushed him was forced, his mind still obviously on our father.

"Don't worry about it, Marcus, I'll be rooting for you." I gave him a kiss on the cheek and rested my head on his shoulder.

"Thanks, May. You're great and all but I still would like Father there." He sighed.

"He'll be there in spirit," I said hopefully.

Marcus gave a hollow laugh. "Yeah, unless his spirit is too busy competing with Rita Skeeter's." The compartment door slid open just as I was about to agree to that.

"There you are!" Frieda exclaimed brightly with Montague, Warrington, Tina and Laura behind her. "We have been looking everywhere for you."

Since she was basically talking to Marcus, I attempted to tune her out but her annoying, high-pitched squeal was very hard to block from entering the mind. As everyone settled, the usual conversations began—Frieda and her clones talking about Myron Wagtail of the Weird Sisters and the boys talking about what cheating tatics they can get away with this year—and the usual flirtation began—Marcus with Frieda, Tina with Montague, Chris attempting with Laura but failing since she was too busy biting her lip in what she thought was seductively at Marcus. I wasn't really paying too much attention to care.

I stared out the window to the countryside though I couldn't see much with the heavy rain pounding against the glass. I wished it wasn't raining so I could see the view. It was always so nice in the farmland, with all the grazing cattle and the flourishing greenery. Unfortunately, along with the thundering rain came darkness as well so I couldn't even make out then tiniest hint of a flower.

"What do you think, May?" Chris Warrington asked me, disrupting my mind from droplets of water that I was having a staring contest with. Why he was even speaking with me was beyond my grasp but I didn't particularly mind this sudden attention. Chris was a burly seventh year with dirty blond hair, a sculpted face but his smile never met his chestnut brown eyes and his nose was a little too big for his face. To me, Chris was just Marcus's friend who talked to me too much.

"Hmm? Think about what?" I asked indifferently not taking my gaze off of the window. Only half my mind was paying attention.

"About the Firebolt," he answered. I turned to look at him and he smiled at me with that smile I was nit picky about.

"Oh, I don't know," I said looking out the window again.

"Come on, you must think something about it," he said as Laura gave up on catching Marcus's attention (he was too absorbed in Frieda anyway) and put her arms around Chris.

"Since when do you care about what I think?" I asked with a light smirk, a bit amused with him.

"You know I have always cared about what you think," Chris said putting his hand on my leg, ignoring Laura.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Warrington. You need that hand for Quidditch," Marcus threatened, tearing his face away from Frieda's just in time to catch that. Warrington quickly put his hands in his pockets, giving me an apologetic look, which I returned with a raise of one of my eye brows. Just as I was about to comment on his lack of subtlety, the lights started flickering.

"What is going on?" Frieda asked, holding onto Marcus's arm, putting on a fake scared face. Frieda was a very good actress, though I highly doubt Marcus would have minding her grabbing onto his arm even if she wasn't afraid.

"I knew this train was crap but come on! The heaters aren't even working!" Laura shrieked, nuzzling into Chris who rolled his eyes. Even with her overdramatic reaction, she was right; it was getting cold. I got up and went to open the compartment door.

"I'm going to find out what's going on," I said, leaving before Marcus could stop me. I closed the door and walked into the compartment across us. "Do any of you know what's happening?" I asked.

"Oh, hello, Mayella, how was your summer?" a girl whom I recognized as Penelope Clearwater of Ravenclaw asked nicely. We had Arithmancy together so I politely said "fine", avoiding looking at the rest of the people in the compartment. "No, we don't know, about the train I mean. We were about to get up and go ask the same question."

I couldn't avoiding looking at the people any longer since Penelope was insisting on introducing me to her boyfriend, Percy Weasley, and then introducing his fifth year brothers Fred and George, and more seventh year Gryffindors like Christa Flinn, Wendy Jenkins, Danny Grey and Oliver Wood. I could tell Wendy was clenching her jaw but counted on the fact that I humiliated her that she wouldn't say anything about it aloud.

Oliver was right by the door looking up at me, which I though was very rude and I would have pointed it out to him if a part of me wasn't flattered. Without warning, the lights went out and the train stopped abruptly and I fell on him. Unfortunately I couldn't' see Wendy's face in the dark since if she saw our position herself, she'd probably look positively murderous.

"Sorry," I said quietly, biting my lower lip as I tried to sit up.

"No, its fine," he said making room for me. Just then, I was sure I saw something move outside our compartment and there was no way it was a student unless someone was seven feet tall, could glide, their head was covered under a black cloak and they turned the windows into ice as they passed.

"Did you see that?" Oliver asked me shivering.

"Yes I did." I didn't even realize tears were coming down my face until I was overcome with a strong urge to see my mother again. The urge turned into a depressed longing very quickly and I felt even more tears slide down my cheeks. I had never wanted to see her so badly until that moment, so much so that Wendy and Penelope's whimpers and Christa's sniffling wasn't heard.

In mere seconds, my mother wasn't the only image floating through my head. Blood... Dark Marks… my father's own Dark Mark… my first time seeing unforgivables practiced… screams... my fathers friends in the black robes and white masks…

I wanted Marcus. I wanted to cry into his chest like I used to when Mother died. The reflex of always turning to Marcus must have compelled me to do it because before I could even think about what I was doing, I was whimpering into Oliver's chest, doing my best to not let on that I was crying. He seemed surprised by my behavior but he didn't show it and started patting my back, putting his arms around me in comfort, most likely very much aware of my tears dampening his shirt.

I would have been grateful but all I wanted to tell him was that his console was no use because I could never be happy again. He pulled me closer to him and I put my hands around his neck, snuggling into his shoulder like I had done with Marcus so many times. Just as he began stroking my cheek and wiping the tears away, Draco Malfoy came bursting into the compartment screaming, briefly interrupting my thoughts. I would have loved to laugh but I couldn't get anything out and I still felt that happiness had forever left me. Draco ran out again, when a bright light near the middle of the train forced the creature off the train.

After that horrid thing left my hope for happiness and normal attitude came flooding back. I quickly let go of Oliver who was very red in the face.

"Are you okay?" he asked and brushed a tear off my nose.

"Yes," I said quietly, sniffing and wiping away any dampness. "Yes, I'm fine."

"What was that thing?" asked Danny. "It scared the hell out of me."

"I still feel horrible," said Christa who had her arms around Danny's neck.

"That was a dementor," Wendy whispered, her face very pale. She momentarily glared at me but her threatening gaze quickly retreated since even she knew that after such a scare as that, such petty quibbles should be laid to rest. At least for a minute or two.

"Was that Draco Malfoy?" Fred asked his twin after a pause, interrupting any private thoughts anyone was having.

George laughed. "Yeah, it was!"

"Well, come on, George! We have news to tell Harry and Ron."

As they walked out of the compartment, someone else came in but I was too busy pondering how the twins had perked up so quickly while there I was still nuzzling up onto Olvier for emotional support and the rest of the Gryffindors and Penelope were all just as pale and diminished, that I didn't notice the tattered man.

"Here, all of you eat this," said the man whose disheveled appearance could challenge that of Sirius Black. "I'm Professor Lupin, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Eat it. It will make you feel better." He handed all of us a piece of chocolate and went to the next compartment. Wendy's color returned to her face when she took a bite and she returned to glaring at me.

"_That's_ our Defence against the Dark Arts teacher?" Danny scoffed. "I give him a year.'

"Less than that even," Christa added, finishing her candy bar.

"Now, now, everyone, let's not judge Dumbledore's decision on a teacher based on his outward appearance—"

As Percy droned on, I looked up at Oliver awkwardly and moved away from him slightly. He did the same and gave me a small smile, removing his arm from its position around me, something I hadn't noticed. Even then I didn't really care because I was smiling back, mainly at the fact his smile, no matter how small it was, reached his eyes.

"Are you done yet?"

I bolted up, immediately recognizing that voice as Chris Warrington's and there he was, glaring at Oliver from the compartment door. I opened my mouth to explain but Chris didn't wait before he took my hand and dragged me off through the bustling train which was moving again, his eyes still narrowed. I scowled at his handling me but as Marcus ran up to meet us, I forgot about everything for that second, happy that I was in his arms again.

"Where the hell were you?" he exclaimed, pulling away and ruffling the hair I had perfected that morning. "I was worried sick when that dementor showed up. But hey, you should have been here to hear Neville Longbottom scream something about Harry Potter fainting. Hah, figures St. Potter can't—"

"She was with Olvier fecking Wood, in his compartment and he was all over her," Chris blurted out, arms crossed over his chest. Marcus's eyes widened, looking at me.

"_What?_"

I swallowed.

"I-It was nothing really, Marcus, we weren't even that close and—"

"You were practically on his lap, May!" Chris exclaimed, scowling. I could have sworn I felt myself shrinking under Marcus's glare.

"I could testify for that," Draco piped up, coming in between us, Frieda and some other Slytherins behind him. "When I… _calmly_ got up to go get some food from the trolley, the dementors showed up so I… _calmly walked _to the nearest compartment _without a sound_ and I saw Oliver Wood pulling you up to him like he wanted to take your shirt off—"

"He was _not_ doing that, you little brat!"

"Well that's what it looked like, then he started fondling your cheek and stroking your hair and putting his hands all over you, and it was rather disgusting, May, I don't know how you—"

A scream interrupted Draco's words, and I immediately looked around. Upon first glance I noticed Marcus was still there—fuming, but at least he didn't cause the scream—but Chris was gone. It didn't take long to figure out where he had gone and with another scream, which I guessed was Penny's and the sight of Oliver Wood being thrown against the opposite compartment door by Chris, it only confirmed my worries. Marcus snapped his fingers, immediately rushing over to help Chris, while Montague, Pucey and Goyle followed behind him. Draco meanwhile preferred to stay back and watch.

"Hah, this is great and we're not even at school yet," he said with a smug smirk.

By this time, Oliver had gotten over the shock of the unannounced—and uncalled for if you ask me—attack and had punched Chris hard enough to cause his nose to start bleeding. Percy and Danny quickly got over their shock too and attempted to hold Warrington back but as my brother and his friends advanced on them, they had their own Slytherin thug to worry about and Oliver was facing Chris alone.

All the commotion and the screaming from Penelope and Christa caused many people to come out of their compartments to watch. Depending on the house, they were either cheering or booing. Bole and Crabbe held a couple of Gryffindors, who were going to assist Oliver and Danny, back.

Percy was not that much help. He stood next to Penelope who was screaming at the sight of blood and he shouted. "I'm Head Boy! You get off of him! I'm Head Boy! Ouch! Who pushed me? You can't do that! I'm Head Boy!" Danny and Oliver were severely outnumbered, even when Wendy decided to join the fight and punched Crabbe square in the jaw.

"Marcus stop it!" I screamed. "Marcus!"

"He's not going to listen," Frieda said with a smirk. "They're in their own little world now so don't even try. Besides this is good entertainment, and we have you to thank for that now don't we, May?"

I would have done some of my own muggle dueling with her just then but Lupin burst through the crowd.

"What do you think you're doing!? Do you all _want_ detention! Get off of each other NOW!"

Everyone quickly listened to orders at the sound of Lupin's voice. He looked furious and his wrinkles were lined with anger; even his graying hair stood on edge. All the spectators hustled back to their respective compartments but I stood where I was hoping my brother and his friends weren't going to get into too much trouble.

"Sorry, Professor. Just a meaningless misunderstanding. Here I'll help you up, Wood." Marcus always was a good actor and in this case he was acting award-winning material. Lupin looked between the boys and I wasn't sure if he believed him or not.

"Now, I am willing to forget this since it is the start of the term and if you all apologize to each other. I'll get you cleaned up before we get to school. I certainly hope I will not see any more of this revolting behavior for the rest of the year or I will most certainly not be as lenient." Lupin's kind voice had returned though his face still was a bit red. They mumbled some apologizes without even looking at each other and Marcus never did help Oliver up.

Lupin used some magic and Oliver's and Danny's bruises and bloodshed were healed. He did the same my fellow Slytherins and after a couple minutes, we were at school. I ignored Marcus and Chris's attempts to talk to me, storming off to the Great Hall alone in the soaking rain before they could get me alone. I didn't want to even look at them though, and even if they had rights to be mad at me, their anger couldn't possibly over encompass my own.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

"May? Talk to me. Please? Come on, sis," Marcus begged as we sat down at the table. I glared.

"Why did you do that?" I said in a furious whisper. "It's the beginning of the year, Marcus! You shouldn't be getting into fights so early! And over something like _that_!"

"Hey, he shouldn't have been touching you like that!" Marcus whispered back just as angry. "And _you_ shouldn't have let him!"

I paused, frowning slightly. Marcus was right, I shouldn't have let him. And Oliver Wood shouldn't have let me. But the fact was, we let each other and even though he could have pushed me off of him and scowl in disgust and I could have slapped him and screamed furiously, we didn't.

"I'm sorry…" I said quietly, leaning my head on Marcus's shoulder. Marcus, who normally hated public displays of affection with me since he didn't want people thinking he was soft like that, kissed my head quickly.

"Don't be, he had it coming anyway," Marcus said.

"Most of it is my fault though," I admitted, frowning. "The dementors me made think of... things so I started crying and Oliver was right there so I cried to him, then that git Malfoy came rushing in and then the bright light and the dementor gone and I stopped crying and Wood—"

"Calm down, May, you're not making any sense. Breathe. It's all right. You didn't mean it. I blame Wood entirely anyway," he said. I nodded, sitting back up, just glad that Marcus didn't blame me.

I suppose I should have been feeling bad for getting Oliver in trouble. I should have been guilty that I got him hurt. But I didn't very much care about the unfairness of Marcus's accusation. I couldn't have changed his mind even if I tried anyway. He had already turned and put his arm around Frieda, forgetting it just like that. Chris even took a seat across the table from me, attempting a smile that I gave back halfheartedly.

After the hat's song and the sorting, Dumbledore gave his usual speech. That oaf Hagrid was the new Care of Magical Creatures teacher. The Gryfindors were pretty happy about that. He also informed us that the dementors would be on Hogwarts grounds because of Sirius Black. I silently prayed that I wouldn't see them again.

I didn't want to think about anything that happened that day. Not on how Chris was trying to make conversation with me all throughout the feast, causing Pucey, Bole and Derrick to raise brows at his attention, and how he was even attempting to play footsie with me before I kicked his leg and gave him a warning look. Draco's impressions of Harry Potter fainting at the dementors did nothing for me, and I was not even phased that Marcus barely looked at me all through the feast as he was too busy engaged in physical contact with Frieda. I tried not to dwell on the fact that NEWTs were this year and I had to find a way to make the Auror thing work or become a nurse or a house wife or something and certainly not how I kept glancing at Oliver and biting my lip wondering if he was really mad at me or not and why I cared.

I just wanted to get some sleep.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

**A/N: Chapter two! I really redid this one, thankfully. Hope you enjoyed :D**

**Revieeew. Please? **


	3. Girl Talk and Less Talk

**Chapter 3: Girl Talk and Less Talk**

Unfortunately for myself, I had to share rooms with Frieda Gudgeon and her duplicates, Laura Tolay and Tina Greengrass. There was also Ginger Jugson but she kept to herself mostly unless she wished to include a piece of her mind. These pieces usually consisted of biting sarcasm or scornful wit. Not particularly an outcast and actually quite respected among Slytherin House, Ginger did like to add her own opinion on almost every topic that went on in that room; sharing a room with Frieda since first year meant a _lot_ of topics.

Frieda and Ginger rarely got along. I remember the first day we were assigned rooms together, the first words out of Frieda's mouth addressed to Ginger were, "Merlin, ew, what's that _thing_ on your head?" Naturally, being that the "thing" on her head was her hair, Ginger did not take kindly to Frieda since that first impression. Another thing about Ginger: she could hold a grudge like McGonagal can hold a glare.

Upon entering the room, my trunk, along with my jaw, fell to the floor. Frieda, Laura and Tina had identical reactions.

"What?" Ginger asked innocently, lying down on her bed. The reason as to why we were all gawking lay in the fact that Ginger's chestnut brown curls were replaced with jet black, inch long cropped strands. This new hair style only increased the glare intensity of her dark brown eyes and, as Frieda would later point out, it accentuated her smooth, pale skin beautifully but the idea of Ginger without the mop of frizzy curls had yet to sink in to us and we continued gawking. "Close your mouths, they're open enough as it is. Especially you, Frieda."

Frieda smirked, her hands on her hips. She abandoned her trunk beside her bed, her hazel eyes not leaving Ginger's head. "Well, well, well, don't you look different. How long did it take for you to gnaw through that bush of thorns on your head?"

Laura and Tina sniggered while I rolled my eyes, letting Azure out to roam upon my bed while I unpacked.

"About as long as you're on knees on Friday nights," Ginger snapped back, "So quite long then, thanks for your concern.'"

Frieda and Ginger's bickering was as common to me as the wrinkles that I could never get out of my sheets once I laid them down. How the house elves back at home did it, I never knew. I did know, however, that every night, no one—meaning Ginger and myself—could sleep because Frieda insisted on Girl Talk. Capital G, capital T. This was the part of the night in which Frieda, Laura and Tina talked nonstop about the latest fashions, scandals and, their favorite topic, boys.

That night, after we were dressed in our pajamas and laying our beds ready for the next day, the first order of conversation started with my brother. I pressed my head to the pillow attempting to ignore them and get some rest.

"Salazar, your brother looks so buff this year," Frieda said to me. I lost all my hope of drowning her out.

Tina and Laura nodded in agreement like good little clones.

"Can we not talk about my brother?" I asked icily giving up my quest for slumber and instead settled with petting my cat's head.

"Is it because you want to talk about Chris Warrington?" Ginger asked with an eye roll.

"Oh yes! Its _so_ obvious he likes you!" Tina said with excitement.

"The way he was hitting on you on the train was a dead giveaway," Laura said.

"Well, Flint, do you like him?" Ginger asked, raising a brow.

"No, of course not," I replied calmly as any hint of blush or giggle or stammer would send Frieda and the girls off on a matchmaking quest that I would rather not have to deal with.

"Did you see the way he pounced on Wood when Draco told everyone what you two did? He seemed pretty jealous," Laura said smiling. Her smile turned into a smirk. "Wood looks good this year too, huh, Flint?"

"Shut _up_," I spat. Azure jumped off my bed and retreated to her usual spot at the end of the mattress. I was beginning to envy her ability to drown out my annoying roommates. "I don't want to talk about him either. In fact, I don't want to talk at all."

"I do. He's almost as cute as Cedric Diggory," Tina said dreamily.

"Ah, Cedric," Laura began with a dreamy sigh. "For a Hufflepuff he's not that bad looking at all"

"He's _so_ gorgey!" Tina exclaimed while Ginger let out a snort.

"Gorgey? Is that even a word?" Ginger asked with a scoff.

While Ginger and Tina bickered over the authenticity of the word "gorgey", Frieda leaned in closer to me. "I was wondering, May, does your brother ever talk about me? Like does he ever ask anything to you about me? Just out of curiosity.."

"No," I replied suspiciously, not liking that Frieda suddenly cared about what my brother said about her.

"Are you positive?"

"Well…" I began, feeling like I would regret saying anything yet I knowing that I would regent not saying anything more. "He does enjoy seeing you in a bathing suit. He said that to Terrence Higgs."

That seemed to please Frieda enough as she turned to a scowling Laura and muttered an "I _told _you those Plastic Healers do wonders".

"Mayella should look into them," Laura told Frieda though made sure to glance at me. "I hear they can fix any breast size no matter how small."

Thankfully, before anyone could register my furious blush, Ginger turned off the lights.

"Goodnight."

o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Hogwarts hardly changed during the summer. The halls still smelled of melted cauldrons and nutmeg and the paintings on the wall of the third floor stairs still recoiled whenever I passed. All the teachers were still their usual selves; McGonagall still had a strict manner to her and Professor Flitwick was still shorter than some first years. Mrs. Norris still stayed clear of me and Peeves still aimed his syrup balloons at my head when the Bloody Barron wasn't around.

It had been a week since school started but I was nonetheless still getting used to my schedule, which had changed dramatically from last year. All the classes had started the same way that first week; each teacher gave us a speech on how important the NEWTs were and then we reviewed things we had done in previous years.

I had double Potions, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts on that second Monday. Unfortunately, I woke up late and the first class of the day was potions. Being that I was a Slytherin and not a Gryffindor, I wasn't quite as worried as I needed to be about the 10 minute tardiness but I ran through the dungeons while tying my blonde hair in a tousled ponytail as fast as I could anyway.

"Miss. Flint, how nice of you to join us. Please take your seat," Professor Snape said as I came in and sat next to Marcus. "Now today you will partner up to review the chameleon potion which we went over last year. If you remember, this potion allows Oceanographers, Aurors, anyone flying over muggle territory to blend in with their surroundings, not unlike a Chameleon, which is the name sake. You'll also find that—"

Suddenly Proffesor Snape paused and calmly walked over to Wendy who had just passed a note to her friend. He stared at her and she stared back terrified. We all knew what was coming. Professor Snape humiliated everyone like this whenever he could especially a Gryffindor.

"Miss. Jenkins, no passing notes in this class. I would think you know the procedure by now," he said, his lips curling. Wendy was blushing ferociously and her brown eyes were round with fear. "Read it aloud, I'm sure we're all dying to know what couldn't wait until _after_ class."

Wendy flushed even more, swallowing. "Professor, it really isn't necessary—"

"Read it," Snape commanded and Wendy snapped into a reading position.

"Chrissy, you have no idea.. you have no idea how.. h-how glad I am to be… to be sitting next to .. to.. to—" Wendy stammered, but was interrupted when Snape rolled his eyes and took the note from her. As he read it, he scowled and used his wand so the note burst into flame and fell into ashes on the floor.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," he sneered. "And if Mr. Wood is going to distract you so much, we'll need a change in seating arrangement. Miss. Jenkins, you may switch places with Miss. Flint who enjoys coming in late to class."

"But Professor—"

"_Now_, Miss. Flint," he snapped and I scowled, gathering my things and going over to sit next to Oliver but not before exchanging a glare with Wendy who was still beat red. "Now then, you have the two periods to complete the potion. It should not be difficult as we went over it last year. Directions are on the board. Begin."

With that, the advanced potions students scuffled to obtain the necessary ingredients. Oliver and I did not look at each other as we began, instead focusing on the potion at hand which was much harder than I remembered.

"Do you have extra dragon scales?" I asked absentmindedly, half way into the period, forgetting that I was resolved to not talk to him. He didn't say anything. I turned to face him, raising a brow. "Excuse me?"

"I don't know if I should say even say a word to you. I might get killed this time," he said without even looking at me.

"It wasn't my fault you got the crap beaten out of you."

"What are you talking about? Are you saying your brother and boyfriend just jumped on me for no reason?" he accused, now allowing his golden brown eyes to leave the pink fumes of his caldron.

"He's _not_ my boyfriend. And you asked for it anyway," I said angrily, letting more Slytherin show through than I would have liked.

"I asked for it? If I remember correctly, _you _were the one who came onto _me_."

I blushed and he smirked at my flaming cheeks. "I did _not_ come onto you. The dementors just made me upset and I desperately needed a tissue and you were right there so I used the next best thing: your tacky, last season shirt."

"Then how do you explain the _cuddling_ and all that?"

My glare hardened. "We were not cuddling. And that's not the point anyway! The point is I did not ask my brother to beat you up."

"Yeah right."

"Honestly, I didn't say anything. In fact, since you got hurt an on my account I'd like to say that I— I'm..._sorry_."

"Sure you are," he said skeptically.

"Hmph. I really am. Why do you insist on being such a prat about this anyway? Do you know how hard that was to say sorry to you? And now I'm going to thank you for comforting me in my time of need. Are you going to push that aside too?"

"That depends if you say it or not," he challenged. I grumbled.

"Thank you, Oliver Wood."

"You're welcome, Mayella Flint," he said smiling. "So if you didn't say anything about our little snugfest, then who did?"

"It wasn't a snugfest. You were merely being a gentleman to a girl in need," I insisted then continued, "I didn't say a word. That git, Malfoy blurted it out and I guess Marcus just over reacted."

"Over reacted? Him and his friends would have killed me if Lupin didn't show up," he said angrily. I mentally noted that he did not use proper nominative case pronouns which Mrs. Zabini always said was the mark of a poor person. Poor people apparently had terrible grammar.

"I said I was sorry, what more do you want? And I even thanked you yet you continue to contradict me," I scolded, putting in two grams of dragon scales into my potion. "But if you must know, I think you're right; he did overreact." I said that quietly.

"Yeah, he did. Bet you're used to that, though," he responded with a smile.

I sighed and leaned my chin on my hand while I stirred clockwise. "You learn to live with it after seventeen years." He chuckled and I met his eyes. "I really am sorry, you know."

"I know, but don't loose sleep over it. It didn't hurt that much."

I smiled at his typical male ego. "Wood, you had three guys with muscles bigger than my head beating the tar out of you."

"Is that all? Well, that's beside the point. I'm alive aren't I?"

"Since you have so much time to distract Miss. Flint, Mr. Wood, then you can stay after class and clean up the cauldrons without magic," Snape snapped at Oliver, with a cruel smirk. Oliver opened his mouth to protest but it seemed seven years of Snape's disdain had taught him some sort of self control and he remained silent, only allowing himself a stiff nod. Once Snape was out of sight I frowned a bit.

"Sorry about that.."

"Don't be, if it wasn't this, he would have gotten me for something else," Oliver said quietly as Snape berated Oliver's friend Danny for his potion's green fumes—the potion was supposed to be pink. "Something about me being the Captain of his house's rival Quidditch team that makes him hate me."

I smirked. "Can't imagine why he can't see past that to your good looks and charm."

He raised a brow, smirking back. "Neither do I. He should be more like you."

"Unfortunately he's not and he's looking over here again. Now be quiet before I get you into more trouble."

With that, we were silently brewing our potions for the next two hours, only communicating in the form of smirks, smiles and eye brow raises when one of us took each other's tools. Eventually, the potions classroom became stifling hot and the smell of the potions were unbearable so talking was not even an option. Luckily class soon finished.

"You're pretty good with Potions," Oliver said, trying too hard to be nonchalant as people filed out and handed their potions in. He had taken off his robe and tie, also unbuttoning a few buttons on his untucked shirt and it took a great deal of self control not to compliment his effortless casualness. "I think we should uh, get together sometime. Maybe.. brew some more… potions?"

"As suave as your offer sounds, Wood, if you value what's left of your unwounded body, don't think about things like that," I said with an amused smirk, peering over at Marcus who was looking as if he was ready to crack Oliver's skull if he dare look at me again. Oliver smiled as he saw who I was eyeing.

"Thanks for your concern. I guess your brother wouldn't like that." Scorn was inevitably the main tone of his usually soft voice.

"Well, see you around, Ella," he said grabbing his books.

I blinked after him but did not say anything regarding his new nickname for me.

"See you, Wood."

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

"What did he do? He didn't try anything, did he?" Marcus asked me at lunch that day after Transfigurations.

"Marcus, it was fine. He didn't touch me. He was a perfect gentlemen," I insisted, hoping he wouldn't press on about it. Chris was looking at me suspiciously.

"If he did anything, you know we wouldn't mind blooding him up a bit," Chris offered, "So it'd be alright if you told us."

It was at that point that I began to realize that the girls were right; Chris _did_ like me. But I always had a hard time trusting them. Last time I took Frieda's advice, I ended up in detention on a false accusation that I put dungbombs in Greenhouse 3, causing half the plants in there to shrivel up and die or become extremely angry and tear each other apart. But Ginger was more trustworthy than all of them put together and she agreed with them when it came to Chris.

"Chris, I am flattered you care so much about me that you would risk expulsion for my sake but honestly; drop it."

"Fine," Marcus mumbled. "Come on, we have to get to Defense Against the Dark Arts with that crazy Lupin." He started off, not noticing Chris holding my arm back

"May, can I talk to you?" Chris asked me. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Frieda, Laura and Tina stop where they were going and feebly try to eavesdrop but not before they gave me the, "I told you so," looks.

"Sure but make it quick," I said, playing the fool. "We don't want to be late."

"Of course, we don't want to be late for that poor fool Lupin. Anyway, I was thinking maybe we could take our new found friendship to a higher level, you know?" he asked, giving me that cocky smirk of his. "Fit in some extra "study sessions", you can join me for long walks along the grounds... and stuff."

I raised a brow but quickly dropped it and gave him a smile instead. "Oh I don't know, Chris.. you're my brother's best friend. I like you and all but I don't think he would like this."

"But—"

"We have to go. We're going to be late for class," I interrupted, beginning to walk off quickly. The one time Marcus's over protection came in handy was when I was when I had excuses to decline date invitations. I started walking and just as I was about to enter into the classroom Frieda and the grls sped up behind me.

"Well, what did he want?" Frieda asked with that stupid smirk in her face the second I got to class. The girls were huddled around me looking so gleeful that I wanted to wipe those stupid smirks of their faces with a quick punch on their overly blushed cheeks.

"Nothing. Be quiet, class is about to start," I said, irritated at their ridiculously smug faces.

At that, Lupin began the class. Something about Vampires. I made it appoint to listen closely as to draw all thoughts of Chris away.

I was never one of the girls who wished to have a boyfriend. I preferred independence, or so I told myself to make up for the true fact that my lack of a boyfriend was my brother's doing. But as I saw Percy Weasley of all people, take Penelope's hand and kiss it quickly before reverting back to utmost attention, and then seeing Penelope's beaming face, suddenly a boy didn't seem like such a terrible idea.

Not that I was about to tell Marcus that of course.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

"Hey, Flint?"

Marcus looked up from his Charms book and narrowed his eyes at Chris Warrington. The guy may have thought that they were best friends, but Marcus begged to differ, especially when Warrington thought Marcus didn't see him try to get with his sister.

"What?"

"What's the answer to number 2?"

"Oh honestly, Warrington, you're only on number two?" Ginger spat, scowling at him. Marcus turned the page in his book, bored already though Ginger's scowling and scolding people had always entertained him, especially when they were in a public place like the library.

"Not all of us have nothing better to do than our _homework_," Warrington snapped back.

"Oh be quiet the both of you, we're in a library here," Frieda interrupted, coming up behind Marcus. He did not look up but felt both of her hands resting on his shoulders. "All you do is bicker."

"Salazar, why do I even sit near you people," Ginger said to herself though loud enough to cause Warrington to glare at her and Marcus to smirk.

"Because you love secretly undressing us with your eyes, Ging," Marcus answered her as Frieda took a seat next to him. Ginger scoffed.

"Right, especially you, Flint," she said sarcastically, shaking her head and gathering her things. "If you'll excuse me, I just realized I hate you all. So I'll be leaving now."

"Right," Marcus said, watching her go, "I like your hair by the way. Looks nice."

"Whatever," she mumbled and took off, making sure not to leave her homework—Warrington had been trying to get a peak at it. Marcus's smirk widened as he caught her patting her short, black hair down.

"She is _such _a bitch," Frieda said as she left but quickly changed the subject and smiled at Marcus. "So you'll never guess what I got from Rodger Davies."

"I probably can but you'll slap me for it."

She hit his arm playfully. "Marcus, come on, put your books away, I booked us alcove time between classes and I want to take _full _advantage of it."

"Rodger Davies is moderating alcoves again this year?" Warrington asked and Frieda nodded as she tugged on Marcus's arm. He sighed and began gathering his things.

"And if Marcus doesn't hurry up, I just might change my mind about treating him," Frieda said pointedly. Marcus sighed dramatically.

"Salazar, woman, you're always rushing me," he said, getting up. As soon as he rose, Frieda was pulling him along. He didn't even bother waving Warrington goodbye since she clung to his arm anyway.

"We haven't done this in like, a year, I totally can't wait."

"Mm," he said simply, wondering how much he had to pay Ginger to finish his Charms homework for him. He had a very strong feeling that Frieda was not going to let him go for a long time.

"This one," Frieda pointed out and pulled Marcus into a darkened, hidden alcove across from the Statue of the Wendela the Witch. She giggled, pulling his bag off him and leaving it on the floor, pulling Marcus into her by his tie. Before he knew it, his lips had crashed into hers and they were hidden from wandering eyes as they engaged in what Marcus decided was the best snog session he'd had since June when he had last seen Frieda. Why this girl even doubted his devotion to her was beyond him.

Unfortunately, what Rodger Davies's Deluxe Hidden Alcoves—"Perfect for a Couple's Private Physical and Emotional Needs Between Classes!"—did not offer were built in silencing charms. So as Marcus's hand was just about to travel up into Frieda's skirt, a pair of voices were heard coming down the hall. Frieda shushed Marcus quickly but he smirked and instead licked up her neck silently while she stifled giggles.

"I really don't think that's a good idea, guys.."

"Don't be boring like Percy, Wood, these fireworks will look great tomorrow! Just the thing we all need as a welcome back to school present."

"Yeah, see, we're trying to give back to our school community and provide them with entertainment. Isn't that right, George?"

"Exactly, Fred. I couldn't have put it better myself."

"Still, you could get into trouble and if you have detention during half the practices I hold this year, don't think I won't replace you."

As the three Gryffindors walked passed, Frieda could no longer hold in her giggles from the touch of Marcus's tongue on her skin. Marcus sniggered while Weasley (Marcus didn't care to disassociate them) took out his wand.

"Hey, who's there?" he called out into the hall.

"Relax, Weasel," Marcus said nonchalantly, stepping out from the alcove with a still giggling Frieda on his arm. She buttoned her shirt as they walked out.

"Yeah, relax, George, just some friendly, scenic Slytherins to your right," the other twin said with an eye roll though Marcus did notice that his eyes lingered on Frieda's chest.

"Come on, let's get out of here before I lose my lunch," Wood said, shooting Marcus a glare. "Hope you're as ready for the next match as you are to contract some sort of _disease_, Flint."

Frieda rolled her eyes, putting a hand on her hip. "As if your precious Jenkins doesn't have any _diseases_."

"Shut up, you're the—"

Marcus pointed his wand at Oliver. "Don't even finish that sentence."

Oliver narrowed his eyes at him, both twins also getting out their wands. "You're out numbered, Flint."

"Pft. I can take you."

Frieda beamed up at Marcus and put her arms around him. "You're so sweet. Come on, we're not done yet."

"But—"

"Mar_cus_," she whined with a pout, but cast a winking twin an amused look. "Let them just go, they have fireworks to shove up a toad's butt or something."

"Shoving fireworks up a toad's butt, that's a new one," one of the twins said with a smirk, lowering their wands. "What do you think, Fred?"

"I like it, George. What do you think Oliver?"

Oliver rolled his eyes as Frieda pulled Marcus back into a kiss and disappeared with him back into shadows of the alcove. He started to walk away. "I think it's stupid."

"In that case, write that down, George, it's a keeper."

"Right-o, Fred."

That was the last thing the snogging couple heard while the three turned the corner. While Frieda's kisses descended below his jaw line, Marcus said, "Hey, Frieda?"

"Hm?" she said between kisses, her hands skillfully loosening his belt.

"Remind me to fuck up the first game of the year somehow for the Gryffindors, alright? In some way that makes Woody want to kill himself."

She smirked and nodded, holding his belt up and then dropping it to the floor. "Now, I say it's time for less talking…"

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

**(A/N: I'm back 8) I missed this story. And it's weird because just as I had finished writing up this chapter I see that I got a review for it after months and months so I'm taking that as a sign xD**

**Besides I want to start a new story and I feel guilty if I didn't update this one yet aha.)**


	4. Because of Fireworks

**(A/N: I fuss about Deathly Hallows in an Author's Note at the end of this, so if you haven't read it, there's your warning.)**

**Chapter 4: Because of Fireworks**

As usual, many unfortunate students were in the library doing their homework early so they would have a free weekend, myself included. I was deeply into reading _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ but that certainly was not because it held vital information that would be on the Auror training exams. Of course not. At least, that's what I told myself. Luckily, my brother seemed to think nothing of it as well.

"Hey May, what did you write on that essay for McGonagall yet?" Marcus asked. I handed him my essay not taking my eyes off the book.

"May, can I have it after him?" Chris asked. I nodded still engrossed in the book. Chris was still talking to me and being as nice as he possibly could. He was still giving me hints about wanting to go out with me but they had become drastically more subtle.

"And me after him?" Frieda asked. I nodded again, this time taking a peak at everyone at my table. Marcus, Chris, and Frieda were all writing their essay. Ginger and I were the only ones done. Coincidently, Ginger was reading the same book I was.

I looked over at the other students. The library was not too crowded since it was a Friday but nonetheless, a good number of students, mostly upper years, were being devoured by work. At the table across from ours, Cedric Diggory was whispering something to a very pretty Asian girl who started quietly laughing. Diggory seemed to beam at her laughter and quickly looked over to share a look with my brother but found that Marcus was looking down at his homework, which was really my homework. Marcus, for his credit, was desperately trying not to fail this year. If it meant that cheating was involved then that would not trouble him at all.

Percy Weasley was deeply absorbed in his own school work and didn't even notice Penelope Clearwater glare at him angrily from right beside him. Last night, during another Girl Talk session with the girls, Laura had told us that the mudblood Penelope was sick of how Weasel didn't have time for her. She further stated that Penelope had yelled at him in the hallway screaming about how she was tired of being second place to his ambitions which, if my sources were correct—and they must have been since Laura knew everything about everyone—included Percy becoming Minister of Magic. It was a laughable notion.

As I rolled my eyes at the mere thought of a Weasley becoming the Minister, Oliver Wood, who was sitting beside Percy, nudged him slightly, obviously asking for his homework. Percy, unlike myself, wasn't as generous and simply shot him an admonishing glare. Oliver smiled innocently in a way that almost made me smile. And almost made me want to give him my homework. Almost.

Fred and George Weasley suddenly came running into the library very noisily carrying a large box. They went over to Oliver and started talking quietly to him, with Percy casting them suspicious glances, then they let him look in the box. He started laughing loudly and Madam Pince kicked them all out, including Percy whose shouts could be heard until he left the library.

Penelope glared after them all.

"Wonder what that was about," Freida said, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. She, like Laura, enjoyed knowing everything about everyone.

"Something against the rules, no doubt," Ginger commented, not taking her eyes off her book.

"Fireworks probably," Marcus muttered. He too did not allow his gaze to wander from my paper as he copied my essay.

"Make sure you don't copy word for word, Marcus, that'll be way too obvious," I said.

"May, I'm a professional cheater, I know what I'm doing."

"Speaking of which," Chris said, lowering his voice as he smirked at his Captain, "Figure out what we're going to do this year to ruin the Gryffindor's stupid winning streak?"

"Oh, I have an idea," said Marcus with a devious smirk. "Draco broke his arm, did you hear?"

"Oh please, it's just a scratch," Ginger said with an eye roll. "He's being dramatic."

"All for a good cause," said Marcus. "He's supposed to get he bandages off in a few days but I think those bandages should last until.. say.. _after_ the first game in which we're _supposed_ to verse Gryffindor.."

"Wait but how is he supposed to play with a broken arm?" Chris asked, scratching his head. "Wouldn't—OH! I get it! Genius!"

"Exactly," Marcus said proudly as Friend kissed his cheek. "And I'll just convieniently forget to mention it to Wood until.. two weeks before the match?"

"Marcus," I chided and Chris openly rolled his eyes at me.

"Here we go," he muttered to Frieda and I shot a glare at him.

"I was simply going to say that two weeks in advance is a stupid idea," I said then paused, ignoring Chris's "Yeah, I _know _you think that". "_One_ week should be sufficient."

Marcus grinned.

"Now _that_ is what I'm talking about."

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Because I had finished homework that same Friday, on Saturday evening I was free from my studies. The Slytherin Quidditch team had a meeting concerning Malfoy's arm and no doubt unveiling Marcus's plan to the rest of the team so my brother was nowhere in sight. I was resting on the bank of the lake by Frieda, Laura and Tina on a blanket. They were talking excitedly and giggling occasionally, speaking about Cedric or some boy. Ginger was also near, though refusing to use Frieda's blanket, and still engrossed in her book.

I did participate as best as I could in the conversation until Frieda, not for the first time, began speaking about my brother in an inappropriate matter and I could not stand listening anymore. While she swooned on about him, I took my shoes off and went by the lake to soak my feet in the water. Farther down the lake, third years were playing with the giant squid so I did not have to worry about stepping on any tentacles. With that thought in mind, I wafted further into the lake.

Because the usual beginning of October chill was still unseen, the evening was warm and attracted many students who needed a break from the typical education to goof off.

I looked behind the third years and saw that Fred and George, the kings of goofing off, were talking with Oliver again, the box still in their hands. They looked very excited but Oliver looked uneasy especially when he looked at the lake. I walked further down the lake so the water was up passed my knees, just under my pelvis. I was wearing shorts so I was not too worried about getting my clothes wet.

Suddenly, loud bangs of different colors—purples, blues, reds, yellows, silver—filled the air and I looked over and saw Fred and George's box was erupting. Fireworks were filling the sky as students excitedly watched, erupting as loud as the fire display in "ooos" and "aahs" and jubilant cheers. One of the fireworks tore out over the lake in a zig zag motion and erupted over the water into dozens of tiny fish shaped sparks. People clapped, including myself, and Fred and George bowed.

The Giant Squid was not as impressed. As the sparkling fish entered the water and disappeared, it began thrashing around madly, causing the third years to run out of the water screaming. I too began to follow their example as the squid thundered toward me, trying to escape the glittering noise. Just as I was getting out of the water I felt a long slimy tentacle grab my leg. Frieda, Laura and Tina screamed and moved away while the Squid started to take me under. Ginger was pale as she looked on immobile and wide-eyed.

I screamed, forgetting everything I learned at Hogwarts about protecting myself. Ginger however, snapped out of her immobile state and shouted "Stupefly!" but the spell only caused the Squid to roar in anger and pain, wrapping its tentacle tighter around my leg, up to my waist. My screams became louder as it dragged me under the water.

I was too terrified to remember to hold my breath.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Oliver felt himself grow pale as the squid dragged Mayella Flint underwater. This is exactly what he had feared when his beaters told him of their latest "fun filled" idea.

"Someone get a Professor!" he ordered as he started taking his shirt and shoes off. Colin Creevy who was beside him—he was taking pictures, unfortunately—began running into the castle. Oliver hid a wince when he noticed what slow runner the kid was.

"Wood! You can't go down there!" Ginger Jugson began to yell when she spotted him stepping into the water. "There are more than squids in that lake! You can run out of air! You can kill yourself as well as her!"

He ignored her and jumped in making sure his wand was firmly in his pocket. He was sure he heard her call him a "moron" before he descended into the frigid depths.

As he began kicking his Quidditch toned legs toward the fish, he kept his eyes narrowed at the nearby Squid who still looked several meters away. From his periphial vision however, he caught sight of two suspiciously red haired companions. Fred and George, who apparently went in after him, sent Oliver a thumbs up and swam toward the Squid with him. Oliver swam faster, no matter how much his already aching muscles objected.

As the three got closer, Mayella was visibly stationary in the Squid's tentacles. He almost gasped at the limp sight of her, forgetting his goal as she floated motionless in the creature's grip until Fred and George swam a beeline toward the tentacle. Oliver soon followed, ignoring the blood gushing out of Mayella's leg, as he and his beaters attempted to pull her from the monster's grip, only to be greeted with attacks from its other arms. Oliver felt himself whirling through the water at the Squid's strike and felt his head pounding but, in his desperation for air for himself and for his companions, took out his wand and quickly stabbed the tentacle holding Mayella with it. Blood gushed out through the slimy surface of the creature as it recoiled in pain.

When he managed to grab hold of the girl, and began swimming toward the surface with her, he felt himself slowly losing velocity, his lack of air no longer something he could ignore. He could feel his lungs swelling with water and felt his world begin to turn black until two pairs of strong arms began lifting him and Mayella to the surface.

'So close. Almost there,' Oliver thought but he had a sinking feeling that Fred and George were also beginning to lose consciousness. He felt the world starting to go black but just as things were becoming dark, he was suddenly flying over the water with great speed, coughing and sputtering for air. With a breath of relief, he held Mayella firmly in his arms. Fred and George, looking pale, nudged him while they flew toward the shore were Dumbledore stood with his wand raised, no doubt levitating them, and nearby students clapped and cheered.

Oliver smiled wrly and prayed that Mayella was okay. He felt his feet touch the ground and he put Mayella down as the onlookers crowded around them. Dumbledore made the students move back so Pomfrey could help her.

"I'm afraid we will have to do this the muggle way," she said looking worried at the sight of blood on Mayella and Oliver and the Twins' pale features. "Oliver, do you know CPR? Just blow air into her mouth and hold her nose while I press on her chest. I'll tell you when to stop. Now start."

Oliver blinked once in confusion but did as he was told, holding her nose and breathing into her mouth, mentally scolding himself for allowing the blood from his forehead to drip down into her hair. The twins were beside him, each biting their lip while Dumbledore stood over them, his old features compressed with worry. While Pomfrey pressed on Mayella's chest, Oliver was able to view his surroundings, including the concerned and curious onlookers and Mayella herself who remained unconscious beneath him. Oliver suddenly felt a huge weight on his shoulders but he didn't think it had anything to do with George's encouraging pat on his back.

After over a minute of blowing and pressing, Mayella started choking and spluttering water out of her mouth, coughing. Oliver smiled with relief.

"Oh thank goodness," Pomfrey said, her hand held to her heart, and people cheered. But no one looked more relieved than the twins who thought they were all to blame for this.

"She's alive! Yes! She's alive!"

They started whooping and both pulled Mayella, who Oliver was sure had never said two words to the Weasleys, into a huge hug. Oliver smiled shyly at her as they let go (to hug each other). She only groaned and put her hand to her head.

"Can you walk, Miss. Flint?" Dumbledore asked, holding his hand out to help her up.

"I.. think I can," Mayella said as she slowly stood up with Dumbledore's help. Oliver, while the twins still celebrated with each other, watched her carefully, ready to help her up again if she fell. Her leg was still bleeding. Dumbledore conjured towels for his wet students as Pomfrey led them back into the castle toward the hospital wing. Dumbledore followed behind them.

When they got into the castle, they were greeting by a furious looking McGonagall and Snape.

"Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley! You are both in horrible trouble!" McGonagal screamed. "Thirty points from Gryffindor! Each! I hope you will both think before you do such a stupid, reckless act like endangering another student with your pranks again! And detention! The both of you! Until I feel you are ready to be released!"

Snape was smiling at this. "And Miss. Flint will be fine I hope?"

"After a night's rest and some medication, she'll be as good as new," Pomfrey said hurrying them into the hospital wing.

"And Mr. Wood?" McGonagall asked, noticing the blood escaping Oliver's head but still looking furiously at the two wet red heads.

"Also after rest and medication. I need to patch up Mr. Wood's head injury first and then Miss. Flint's leg injury. I'm surprised their wounds are not any worse."

"I'm even more surprised that they're all alive," Snape said, raising a brow at the twins who looked down guiltily.

"I think Mr. Wood deserves some credit for his brave deed," Dumbledore said. "Twenty points to Gryffindor sounds fair. And five to both Weasleys."

Dumbledore continued, "Now both Mr. Wood and Miss. Flint deserve some sleep in the hospital wing. Hagrid will be over soon to obtain your wand from the lake, Mr. Wood, after he bandages the giant squid. You two Weasleys may return to your common room unless you require Poppy's services. I'm sure your punishments can wait until you're both well and rested."

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

"What the hell happened?!" I heard a scream, which I quickly recognized as belonging to my brother. I stifled a groan as the previous day came flooding back to me.

"Shh! She's sleeping!" Oliver instructed, "And I told you. She was putting her feet in the lake and the squid went crazy and grabbed her so I saved her."

It was then that the events really hit me quite hard though I still kept my eyes closed, hoping it was all a dream. I did not want to believe that I had lost the ability to act in the face of danger—some hopeful Auror I turned out to be—and that I landed myself in the hospital wing. The fact that I believed Oliver's lips were on mine was something that would not be a good reality.

"_You _saved her?" Marcus asked, still annoyed but with less wrath.

"Yes and Fred and George Weasley. But, Dumbledore is the real hero. We would have died if he didn't levitate us," Oliver said modestly.

I wished I could have seen if Marcus was angry or not. Instead I hesitantly opened my eyes to learn that I was not facing my brother and my savior but an end table with a large box of Every Flavor Beans. The card was open to reveal Fred and George's loopy and large signatures.

"You're a moron, you know that?" Marcus said but with sarcasm in voice and I felt him go back to my bedside. Before they could begin arguing again, I "awoke" for them and Marcus immediately threw his arms around me.

"May!" Marcus exclaimed before quickly pulling away, ruffling my hair affectionately instead. "Finally, you're awake. I knew Pomfrey gave you too much drugs."

"Mm, remind me to tell her I want more next time," I said with a smile, snuggling onto his shoulder. He was still in his Quidditch uniform and I hoped he had not spent the night; I would feel even more pathetic if he had. "I still heard you yelling even through all the drugs."

"It was not yelling," Marcus said, kissing my head with a smirk, "Just expressing my concern using my outdoor voice."

Oliver, who was in the bed next to mine with a bandaged head, chuckled and shook his head. Marcus narrowed his eyes at him

"What's so funny, Wood?" Marcus asked irritated.

"You being human," Oliver said blandly, "I was always of the opinion that you were all troll."

Marcus took the open carton of beans from my bedside and threw a bean at him.

"Sod off, Wodd," he said sharply, "And there are more beans where that came from."

"Oh good, she's awake," Pomfrey said with a smile, luckily ignoring Oliver and Marcus' glaring match. "It's about time you're awake too; its already noon. Just have some of this and you can leave. Though you could stay one more night if you feel the need to."

"I don't," Oliver said quickly, crossing his arms over his chest. Marcus chucked a bean at him when Madame Pomfrey served me a spoonful of some concoction.

"And neither does my sister," he added, shooting Oliver a dirty look, "My sister who shouldn't have been here in the first place."

"I surmised as much," Pomfrey said, twisting the cap of whatever bitter antidote she gave me. "Both of you have had numerous hordes of people asking about your welfare. I'm sure you wish to see them."

"She only let me in here because we're related," Marcus muttered to me as the nurse returned to the back room. "Now take your beans and come on, May, I have two Weasleys to kill."

"Don't touch my beaters, Flint!" Oliver said getting up.

"Don't worry, it's not too late to hold tryouts for new ones, Wood," Marcus threatened icily. "Once I get a hold of your current ones, they're as good as dead."

He gave Oliver a just-try-and-stop-me half smile and he grabbed my arm, leading me out of the hospital wing. Oliver glared after him furiously but seemed to realize there was nothing he could do to save his beaters.

"Wait! Flint!" he called, going after us but my brother did not stop as he stormed down the hallway, still holding my hand. "They didn't mean to hurt her! It was an accident! Can't you show a little mercy?"

"No," Marcus said simply, otherwise ignoring Oliver. Oliver sighed hopelessly, sending me an apologetic look. I bit my lip, looking up at my brother.

"Wait.. Marcus.."

"Don't you dare say anything, May, I'm going to rip them apart."

"Marcus, please don't. You're already on thin ice and you can't afford to stay back another year," I impored, holding onto his arm and unleashing a pouty stare. "It wasn't the Weasleys fault. The squid just went crazy."

"Yeah, because of their stupid fireworks; don't think I haven't heard the rumors," he practically spat but he did stop walking and turned to face me. "They're dead men walking."

"Marcus, I don't blame them, you shouldn't either. They didn't ask the squid to attack me."

"But it did because of them!" He looked at Oliver as if he had something to do with my pity for the twins. Oliver looked just as baffled at my sympathy as Marcus.

"If anyone is to blame then its me for staying in the water too long. Please. Don't hurt them," I pleaded, batting my eye lashes pathetically. Marcus looked at me and sighed then thought for a minute, throwing Oliver dirty looks while he did so.

"Fine. Let's just go back to the common room. Chris is really worried for some reason and we don't want him to piss in his pants, now do we?"

I smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Marcus."

"Yeah, yeah. Now come on you bloody brat," Marcus said, taking my hand. I smirked as we walked away, sending Oliver a small wave goodbye. He smiled.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Ginger hugged me the moment we walked into the common room.

"And I told him he was a moron," she said referring to Oliver. Chris quickly hugged me next, kissing my head in a way that reminded me of Marcus. I couldn't help but smile for him.

"He _is_ a moron. But I'm glad you're alright," Chris said with a smile, looking me over. "You are okay, right?"

"Did Wood kiss you?" Frieda asked, interrupting my reply.

"What the hell? When was this?" Marcus asked with narrowed eyes. I opened my mouth to respond but realized that I was not quite sure myself so settled with an innocent shrug.

"Calm down. Its called CPR. It saved her life," Ginger clarified.

"So he didn't kiss you?" Chris asked.

"No. He breathed air into her mouth after Pomfrey gave her compressions," Ginger further explained, her patience growing thin.

"So when do kill the Weasels?" Montague, a fifth year, asked with a smirk. I did not know when he entered our cluster of seventh years but he was doing nothing to hide his excitement.

"We're not," Marcus said simply after reading my look.

Montague looked confused but before he could ask Marcus to repeat himself, Draco, who also had been listening to our conversation, spole first. "I for one was looking forward to it."

There was a murmur of agreement among the gathered Quidditch players. Marcus looked at me and I could hear his silent pleas asking me to change my mind. I gave him a stern look and shook my head. He sighed quietly, turning to his team.

"Well, that's too bad, Malfoy. They live."

"Why can't we even hurt them?" Montague asked. "What about payback? What about revenge? What about—"

"Are you questioning me, Montague?" Marcus asked his voice suddenly heated. He crossed his arms over his toned chest and seemed to tower over the silent fifth year.

"Uh, n-no—"

"I didn't think so. Does anyone else have a problem with sparing their worthless lives?" Marcus asked and everyone shook their heads. "Good. I won't hear any more of that then. Are we clear?"

Again, heads nodded simultaneously. I smiled appreciatively at my brother but he seemed to be doing his best to avoid my eyes.

Ginger sent me a questioning glance but I shrugged, unwilling to deal with a lecture from her about sparing Gryffindors or whatever she disliked about the situation. As my brother and Frieda retreated to his room and the Slytherin team went back to their respective places in the common room, Chris sat down next to me.

"How is the leg?" he asked. "I heard it was bleeding before."

"Oh that was hardly anything," I said quietly, my eyes on my brother's door. "Pomfrey healed it very quickly and now you can't even tell."

"Yeah.."

He seemed to be looking down my legs where there were indeed no scratches. I rolled my eyes but smirked, nudging him slightly.

"Stop it, Warrington."

"Can't help it, May, I'm too appreciative of your unharmed leg," he said with a smirk.

"Oh is that what you're calling your checking me out?" I asked playfully, with a hand on my hip. "How creative."

"What are you calling your brother's mercy on the Weasel twins?" he asked with a raised brow. "A complete personality change? Or simply the result of a meddling sister?"

"I was _not_ meddling," I said pointedly. "Excuse me for not wanting him to get expelled for a double homocide."

"Oh is that the reason? I was under the impression that it was something completely different."

"Is that so? And what was that impression leading you to believe, Chris?"

"Just that.." he began but paused. Looking at me thoughtfully he instead leaned toward me and smiled. "Just that you're a little softie."

I grinned, shoving him away. "Soft as a pillow."

"I was thinking marshmellow. That way you'd taste good too."

"I hope you're not planning to let my brother hear you talk like that," I said with some amusement. He shrugged.

"Maybe I don't care what your brother thinks."

As I was about to respond, Adrian Pucey cleared his throat, standing in front of us.

"Oy, Warrington, Flint told me to tell you to get your ass in the room and pick up your dirty laundry because it's all over the floor," Pucey said with a smirk and then with a slight taunt, added, "Because you know, Frieda hates looking at your dirty knickers when she's trying to blow our captain."

Chris glared at him, rising from his seat. "Right. I'm going. Thanks for the message, Puce. Couldn't have come at a better time."

"No problem," Adrian said easily, taking Chris's empty seat. Chris sent me an apologetic half smile, his face quite red, and then headed toward his room. "So much for not caring what your brother thinks, eh?"

I tilted my head in thought, leaning back against the couch, glancing at Adrian thoughtfully. "It's not like I believed him anyway. Everyone cares about what my brother thinks."

Including myself.

_Especially_ myself.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

**(A/N: Whooop, that's another chapter down. The next one I hope to have up saaay.. next month ish? Expect more over protective brother syndrome and glaring contests. I was like eh for most of the time writing this because it felt like.. meh Oliver saves May, who saw that coming but you know what? We all know they end up together so leave me alone xD**

**Now about DH..**

**This rant contains spoilers..**

**Consider yourself warned...**

**FRED :( GAH Just when Perce came back too and how he was holding onto him and crying and George's EAR meeeh :(**

**Other than that, I really liked it. All the other deaths I was sad about, (Lupin, gah, last marauder) but Fred was the one I really cried for. The only thing I really disliked about the book was the Ginny/Harry ness but that was inevitable. Stupid Ginny. I hate her a lot, little slutface. Freaking Albus Severus? What the hell kind of name is that? xD And HUGO? Scorpius?! HAHA I bet Harry, Ron and Draco picked those. Freaks.**

**Oh well, I'm just glad the Malfoys survived haha. And they were AWESOME. GO CISSA. I hope everyone noticed what a tight leash she has on Luce. And I don't care what anyone says, Draco married Pansy. They're made for each other damn it.**

**SNAPE omg Poor, tortured soul. I don't care how fanficy that chapter was, I can read the pensive chapter with Snape/Lily over and over and still be happy. That chapter answered so many questions, I loved it. And REGGG GAH. What a hero. I love him. **

**OH AND OLIVER. OL WAS THERE! I was excited. He had one line too! That made me really happy. Even if it meant that Colin died. I felt sad for that, poor kid. But oh well, OLLIEEE. Oh, I didn't like that NO slytherins stayed in the great hall with the rest of the school either. Like they're ALL such evil bastards. I mean, what about Theodore Nott? Wasn't he a good kid? Meh, whatev, they're just trying to save their own skin, I respect that x)**

**To sum it up, I really really loved the book. Everyone was so kickass, even Harry and Ginny was sort of a litte kinda maybe tolerable (only NOT). I still hate her with a passion but xD It was the perfect semi happy ending to the perfect series. Hopefully I'll stop being lazy and write some fics on it. )**


	5. Indentured

**Chapter Five: Indentured**

When someone saves your life, you are honored by a special, magical bond to repay them.

We in the pureblood circles honor old tradition and old magic as much as we honor our ancestors. Where would we be without this old magic? Why, we'd be along side those filthy half breeds, right? We'd be as lacking in virtue as the blood traitors and mudbloods, with their disgusting "modernism" and new ways of thinking. And with the unfortunate influx of dirty blood and the fallen values of the blood traitors plaguing our society, I only wanted to maintain some honest propriety.

And I didn't want to be indebted. To anybody. Let alone a halfbreed Gryffindor with a misplaced sense of heroism.

At least, that's what I repeated to myself as I made a beeline toward Gryffindor Tower.

"Ahem, may I ask what _you_ are doing here?"

I almost jumped. For the past few days I had been nonchalantly finding myself taking a stroll toward Gryffindor Tower but I was still unaccustomed with the surroundings. However, I recognized the haughty voice that greeted me immediately. Percy Weasley stood in front of me, crossing his arms in front of his chest and eyes narrowed. His puffed out chest only highlighted the Head Boy badge on his shirt.

"It's a free school, I could walk where I wish, Weasley," I said, pushing past him.

"You do know that it is one hour until curfew, right?"

"Thanks for the update, I'll keep an eye on my watch," I said then stopped, turning back to him. "Say.. you haven't seen Oliver Wood around, have you?'

Percy raised a brow. "He's in the common room. It is 59 minutes until curfew after all."

"How much do I have to pay you for you to get him for me?" I said, beginning to dig into my pocket. Percy scowled.

"I am not about to be bribed!"

"So you'll do it for free then?"

"That is not what I said, I simply stated that I am a man of honor and—"

"Well then doesn't that translate into you being a gentleman and going to retrieve Oliver Wood for me?" I asked, curling a lock of my hair innocently. "I mean, there is only 59 minutes—"

"Fifty eight, actually."

"Fifty eight minutes until curfew and you don't want to encourage a student to be late to their common room because you were being unreasonable right? That's not fitting for a Head Boy."

From years of attempting to be smarter than him, I knew Percy's "think" face. His eyebrows were scrunched, his jaw was locked and his thumb and forefinger were resting on his chin while his eyes narrowed at me. Ginger and I used to mock that face when he bragged about his exam scores (which, unfortunately, were always higher than ours).

"Stay here, I'll get him," Percy mumbled, walking into his common room.

I grinned in triumph. I'd have to tell Ginger about this later, I thought. I had fix my problem first, before Marcus realized that my being indebt to Wood is a problem.

"Flint?"

He came out of the common room alone, still in his quidditch robes. I couldn't help but feel he'd look better in green and silver.

"Hello, Oliver Wood," I said, offering him a smile. He still suspiciously looked at me, arms crossed over his chest. "How are you?"

"I'm alright," he said. "What about you? Feeling better?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine," I said.

There was an awkward silence.

"Alright, that was very nice small talk, Wood," I continued, taking out a small tablet and a ball point quill. "So what do I owe you? And I swear, if you're going to make me do something huge and embarassing for you, I won't even tell Marcus about this and I'll kick your ass myself."

He raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. What, you don't think I can't hurt you, do it? Is that it?"

"Wha—? No! I mean… _what_ do you owe me?"

"That's what I'm asking you," I said, raising both brows at him. "Are you paying attention or not?"

"Mayella, if this is about me saving you—"

"You saved my life. Obviously I owe you something in return and I plan on repaying that something now before later. So name your price."

I looked expectantly at him, my quill ready on my paper. He blinked, stepping back a bit.

"Oh and I don't do sexual favors," I added in quickly. He blushed.

"That's not what I—I mean—listen, Flint, you don't have to do this," he said quietly, his hand resting on the back of his neck awkwardly.

"You saved my life, I owe you something," I insisted with a frown. Why did he have to be so difficult? "Just name it. Want me to do your potions homework or something? You're terrible at potions."

"I'm not terrible at Potions," Oliver muttered defensively, "Snape just has something against me and you know it."

I raised a brow but otherwise ignored him. "As I was saying, you're terrible at potions."

He smiled, shaking his head. "This is ridiculous. Honestly, Flint, move on with your life. I saved you because it was the right thing to do, not to make my indentured servant or whatever."

"That doesn't make any sense," I said, a hand on my hip. I was becoming impatient and Oliver's growing smile did nothing to help matters.

"What, have no appreciation for reckless heroism?" Oliver asked.

"None whatsoever," I replied but smiled smally. "Now, can we get back to what I owe you?"

"No! Listen, Mayella, really, I need you to listen."

He held me by the shoulders, shaking me lightly and nearly forcing my confused blue eyes to meet his warm, penetrating brown eyes. I only blinked in response, dropping my writing tablet and quill. He leaned in closer.

"You owe me nothing. You saved my beaters from having the tar kicked out of them, remember? Honestly, forget what you owe or whatever. I should be thanking you."

"Thanking me?" I asked, raising a brow, nudging away from him as I brushed imaginary dust off my shoulder. "I panicked! Typical damsel in distress! Salazar, Marcus leaves my side for less than an hour and I can't even take care of myself! I didn't even remember how to swim! I.."

I trailed off, sighing, staring at the floor again. The embarrassment of the situation weighed down on my back. Or maybe the hand Oliver had comfortingly rested on my shoulder gave me that feeling. I sighed again, bending over to pick up my tablet and quill.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, "I'm so embarrassed about what happened."

"The squid went crazy, you couldn't do anything about that," Oliver said, obviously attempting to make me feel better, "And you want to know the truth? I wasn't that much of a hero; I was scared shitless of what would happen to you."

"That's all part of being a hero though," I said, shrugging, "Or so I've read. I wouldn't really know, or care to know."

"Oh but that's not the worst part," Oliver continued, giving me a big grin. I raised a brow as he leaned in closer to me and whispered. "I also wanted to see the white shirt you were wearing get soaked."

I rolled my eyes, shoving him playfully as he chuckled. "You think you're so funny, I wasn't even wearing a white shirt."

"Relax, I know, I'm kidding," he said, hiding laughter. I hmphed as I stuffed my quill and paper into my pockets and crossing my arms over my chest.

"I know you're kidding," I said then gave him a smirk, "How do you know I'm not offended by your joke? Do you seriously not want to see me in a wet shirt, Oliver? Am I not good enough for the hero?"

"Now you're just messing with me," he said.

"Maybe," I said with a smirk and shrugged innocently. "Well it's almost curfew so I'm going to go. I did what I came here to do so no hanging unfounded debts over my head, got that?"

He nodded. "Deal."

I began to start off until he took hold of me by the hand. "Wait. Mayella, you want to.. I don't know, ditch curfew or something?"

I raised a brow. "And do what?"

He smirked and shrugged, motioning to his quidditch robes. "I don't know. Go flying or something?"

"But… it's after curfew," I said, pulling my hand away from him.

"So? No one's out past midnight anyway, we won't be caught," he said. "Come on."

"But the dementors are out there," I said, "I don't want to get caught by them."

"They're not allowed anywhere near the Quidditch field," he said, "Besides, if they come anywhere near us, we can scare them away with our cuddling. It worked on your Slytherin pals."

I rolled my eyes as he smiled, starting off down the hall in front of me. I suppose he took my eye roll as a "yes". "Stay close."

I hesitated. I did not want to be caught, either by a teacher or a dementor and I certainly did not want to be out past curfew. However, that stupid confident smirk of his was practically mocking my hesitation. So, with one final glance back to Gryffindor tower, I followed close behind him, biting my lip the entire way.

"Can I call you Ol?" I asked, breaking the silence and attempting to calm my nerves.

"No."

"Ollie?" I asked with a smirk.

"_No_."

"Livvy? Olive? Woody? Olly-Olly-oxen-free?"

"No times four, Ella," he said, smirking back. "Or should I say Ellie, May, Mayelle, Elle, Flinty, Flin, Sha-May-May."

"Technically it would be 'No _plus_ three'," I informed him as he led me out onto the grounds. I subconsciously walked closer to him. "One 'No' plus three other 'No''s make four. Honestly, that's the most basic arithmancy. And Sha-May-May? Flinty? Please."

"I'm not much of a math genius," he said, taking my hand. "Ella."

There he went again, shooting me smiles. Luckily it was dark out and he couldn't see me blink and bit my lip again, only replaying what I thought a dementor's kiss looked like in my head. The stars and moon were our only light and as Oliver charmed open the Gryffindor sheds by the field. I distracted myself by trying to find constellations. All I could think about were the looming Dementors, prowling somewhere on the grounds.

"Wood," I whispered, inching closer to him, "Are you sure we're safe? I mean, it's so dark and the dementors are so uncontrollable and—"

"Ella, trust me," he said, holding open the door for me. "You think I'd let anything happen to you? Of course I wouldn't. One of my teammates might get pummeled by your brother and I wouldn't risk my _team_ for you."

I couldn't hide a smirk as I went into the shed. "Right. Your precious team. I heard Quidditch is all you think about and now I'm seeing first hand that the rumor is indeed true. What do you have to say for yourself?"

He grinned, tossing a broom at me. "Believe everything you've heard."

"Trust me, you wouldn't want that," I said, watching the broom fall beside me. I made no move to go pick it up. "Sorry, was that mine?"

"Yeah, actually," he said, leaning against a broom. I knew from the polished exterior, mint condition bristles and sooth, kept wood, that it was his. He looked amused as he watched me pick up the fallen broom with some degree of disgust. "Problem?"

"It's just… it's a school broom," I replied as if it was obvious. "A _school_ broom. These things are gross."

"Can you fly?" he asked, opening the opposite door, which led to the field.

"Yes of course. Remember who my brother is? It's just that this is a _school broom_, Oliver."

"Look, _Princess_, unless you keep your broom in this shed like I do, then this is the only broom I can give you," he said, mounting his own broom. "You ready or what?"

"But these are gross!" I exclaimed, pulling on his sleeve and pouting. That action usually worked on Marcus but it seemed to be of no avail when it came to Oliver Wood who began to fly up. "Oliver! I'm talking to you!"

He blew me a kiss, shooting toward the goal post. Scowling, I mounted the ugly school broom and took off, hating that I had to keep two hands on the unstable broom so I wouldn't shoot off in the opposite direction. I would have liked to use one free hand to hold my skirt down.

Oliver looked more at home in the air than even Marcus did. A hint of a grin brightened his features as he made a sharp turn around the goal posts, shooting toward me. He added upside down twists, hunching his back so his body was closer to the broom, increasing his speed. I watched him with a small smile, more interested in observing his technique than attempting to catch up.

"Are you done showing off?" I called.

"In front of you? Nah, not for another twenty laps," he said, smiling as he flew to a halt beside me, "I figure you'd simply have to be impressed by twenty."

"You obviously don't know me very well," I said, smoothing down my skirt unnecessarily. "It'll be at least fifty before I even bat an eyelash."

"Fifty? That's nothing," he said, his smile growing into a grin, "I could do it with my eyes closed."

"You know this field that well, huh?" I said, my tone softening into a thoughtful observation rather than banter.

"Of course," he replied just as softly, looking at his surroundings like a father would look at his son, "It's my second home. Practically grew up in this field."

"It suits you," I said, reaching over to tie a buckle on the chest of his red and gold uniform. Just like Marcus, Oliver apparently didn't know when to change from his uniform either. Those two didn't know how alike they were. "Whoa."

With both my hands tying Oliver's buckle, my broom had taken it upon it self to sink down about a foot. I grabbed onto Oliver almost as quickly as he held my sides. "Stupid thing," I muttered, placing both hands back on the stick. "Thanks."

"Thanks for the uh," he motioned down to his chest buckle with a chin jerk, "Tying. I should have changed hours ago."

"I bet my brother is still in his Quidditch uniform too," I said, beginning to fly slowly higher. Oliver followed beside me and I was glad for it. Better beside than behind, where he could get a glimpse of my panties. "He's probably planning tactics by making pillows fly around the common room like bludgers."

"He uses pillows? I use ink bottles for that and quills act as my brooms when I'm planning things," Oliver said, "Sometimes I use the burnt wood from the fire place depending on the season. Or snow balls, I use those in the winter."

I smiled. "You're so obsessed. It's cute."

He smiled back and shrugged. "I'm passionate. That's all. I'm sure you're passionate about things too."

I sighed, shivering as a wind blew past us. I risked it and slowly raised my hands to rub my shoulders, letting my broom guide our destination. "Not really. I suppose I'm passionate about my family. Maybe about school. Not nearly as much as Percy Weasley. Otherwise, I can't say that I'm honestly passionate about anything."

"That's too bad," Oliver said with a slight frown, "Everyone should be passionate about something."

"Well I do have a lust for double chocolate fudge cakes with a glass of milk," I humored him with a smile. He smiled back, then took out a ball from his pocket. It was small, half the size of his fist and it looked like it was made out of very colorful rubber.

"It's a bouncy ball. My sister got it from a joke shop in London," he explained, handing it to me. It was firm and colorful, obviously a muggle toy. I felt strange holding this dirty toy but I didn't say anything, instead looking back to him curiously. "Throw it toward the goal as hard as you can. I'll give it five seconds, see if I can catch it by then."

"You won't," I said automatically.

"How do you know?" he asked, and I saw him grip his broom harder with a smirk as if already accepting a challenge. I rolled my eyes.

"Don't you know anything about projectile motion? Your broom only goes so fast and if you're going to wait five seconds—considering the force I'm going to transfer into this ball which only weighs one and a half grams at most, not including air resistance or the rotation of the earth into the calculations—you won't make it. The angle I'll throw it in will be at least twenty five degrees, the final velocity will far outmatch your braking time and honestly, you're not a seeker. You're a keeper. You simply won't make it—it's basic Arithmancy."

As I explained this, he blinked at me, a grin slowly growing on his face. With each word, the grin would continue to grow until he broke out into a genuine laugh.

"And what is so funny?" I asked indignantly, one hand on my hip, the other still holding on to the broom.

"You," he answered simply, still laughing lightly. "You're a math nerd. It's cute."

"It's pure physics," I corrected him, unable to hide a smile of my own. "Maybe I am passionate about something. I do love math."

"Well, there you go; there's your passion," he said with a shrug, beginning to decent in height. "Come on, let's get out of here before we freeze."

I nodded, following him down. He landed gracefully, just as quick on his feet as he was in the air. I, on the other hand, tripped while attempting to pull the broom out from between my legs without lifting up my skirt.

"Next time, you're moving over and I'm squeezing in behind you," I informed him, throwing the broomstick where it belonged back in the shed, glaring at it. "Stupid thing."

"Are you saying there'll be a next time?" he asked, locking up his own broom in his locker.

"Maybe," I said, holding up the ball and tossing it to him. He caught it easily and placed it in his locker. He actually wouldn't make too bad a seeker. "I may just make you save my life again. You need to earn these nights with me."

He smirked, shutting his locker and starting out the door behind me. "Hey, I'd go another round with the squid if that means more lectures on the science of Quidditch."

"Quidditch is mostly parabolas and vectors," I said, "Also, lots of force equations and projectile motion. Quite easy stuff. That's why I go to Quidditch games; to deduce whether or not the parabolas are off or not."

"Are you saying you can tell whether or not the quaffle is going to make it into the goal?" Oliver asked, raising a brow. "Just by looking at it?"

"Well duh, Oliver," I said, lowering my voice. There was something about the darkness, no matter how comfortable I felt, that inspired me to whisper. "Though usually during a Gryffindor game, you stop all the goals anyway, whether or not they would have made it. You're very good."

He smiled. "Thanks. I'll be sure to tell my team they need to work on their parabolas."

"And I'll be sure to critique your next game for you and tell you who hasn't been applying enough force to their throws or aiming at the correct angle."

I failed to mention that his next game would not be against Slytherin.

"Here I was thinking your brother sent you to seduce me for information about my team when really, you're just here to help the parabolas be right," he said with a grin.

"I resent that. My brother has some semblance of tact, I'll have you know."

He shook his head, smiling at me. "I'll remember that next time he's hinting oh so subtly at his cheating maneuvers or mocking my blood."

"It's not his fault you're a halfbreed," I said, looking around the grounds cautiously, waiting for a Dementor to jump out at us. I was close enough to Oliver that I felt him stiffen as the words escaped my mouth but I didn't say anything. Neither did he until we entered the main hall.

"You can walk yourself to the dungeons, right?" he asked impatiently. I raised a brow and nodded. "Great. Bye, then."

"Bye," I said quietly, watching his retreating back head up the staircase.

It was not until I reached Slytherin, entered my room quietly, removed my make up, changed into my pajamas and lay awake staring at the ceiling in my bed that I realized I must have offended him. It was the halfbreed comment.

Mentally groaning, I turned over in my bed, huffing with annoyance at his sensitivity. I'm a Flint; we don't care much for sensitivity especially when it comes to censoring our comments until they're politically correct. If Marcus censored everything that came out of _his_ mouth then he wouldn't be able to talk all.

But really, I thought as my eyes began to close, would that be such a bad thing?

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

"Oliver, you know I only respect your privacy and think nothing but the best of you but honestly, mate, I do wish you would tell me what you were up to last night. I only have your best interests at heart and to be quiet honest, sometimes you don't think very clearly."

Percy had been droning about Oliver's lateness the other night beside Oliver for the past fifteen minutes, ever since Oliver first sat down beside him at the table for breakfast.

"Do we want to know what our brother is going on about, Wood?" Fred Weasley asked, swiping Percy's toast as he walked past with George and took a seatbeside their captain. Percy scowled and levitated another slice of toast from the basket in the middle of the table.

"Trust me, you don't," Oliver said, stifling a yawn. George and Fred exchanged a smirk.

"In that case," George began.

"We completely do," Fred finished. "So, Perce, dear old brother you, mind filling us in?"

Percy scoffed, taking a bite of his scrambled eggs. "It's hardly your concern. This matter is between myself—the Head boy—and Oliver. The both of you need to mind your own business."

"Right, _they're_ the ones who should be minding their own business," Oliver grumbled pointedly at Percy who frowned.

"I'll have you know it could cost me my position if anyone found out I let you out past curfew without reporting it! Not to mention that girl you were with. I don't like her."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold it. Wood was out with a girl?" George asked, raising a brow and sharing a grin with his brother who looked equally surprised.

"A real girl, Perce? You sure you didn't dream her?"

"It could have been a magical doll."

"Or a specter. They shape shift."

"A boggart! It must have been a boggart. Oliver's fear makes so much sense—"

"Will you two shut up?" Oliver snapped, scowling at the pair who were still grinning. "It was a real girl and nothing happened. Actually, she turned out to be kind of a git."

"Told you," Percy said, shaking his head. He did that "tsk, tsk" thing with his tongue that Oliver hated. "You don't want to run around with girls like that, Wood."

"Girls like who?"

Oliver perked up, meeting the smile of Wendy Jenkins. She sat across from them at the table, looking expectantly from the twins, to Oliver to Percy. Oliver had to give her credit; it took at least a minute of an awkward silence before her smile started to waver.

"Oh fine, don't tell me," Wendy said with an eye roll, taking toast from Percy's plate—("What is it with people taking my toast?!"). "Have your little boy secret."

"If it makes you feel better, Wendy, we're just as in the dark as you are," George said, winking at her. "Oliver will fill us in later."

"Yeah right," Oliver muttered then added, "Oh and be sure you're at practice today! Five o'clock sharp and don't even think about being late!"

"Yeah, yeah," Fred said, brushing the directions off, 'Hey, where are you going?"

Oliver had risen from his seat, slipping his messenger bag onto his shoulder. "Out to check the weather. If it looks like rain then I want to schedule a double time practice so we can be ready for terrible weather conditions come first game."

The twins groaned but Oliver ignored them, waving at Percy and Wendy before heading off down the hall. All he could think of however was Mayella's voice saying "obsessed" over and over again in his head. After her comment about his blood however, he found it easy to ignore. For a little while at least.

"Salazar, Davis, don't make me kick your ass," a too familiar voice sounded and Oliveir visibly cringed. "Either I get the pitch tomorrow morning or I fuck you up."

"But Flint! Your seeker is benched!"

"Just listen to him, Roger," Cedric said, leaning against the wall beside Marcus who was hovering over Roger Davis, his wand to the boy's throat. "It'll make things loads easier for everyone."

"Wood!" Roger exclaimed, noticing Oliver, "Just the man we all wanted to see!"

"Oh great," Marcus muttered, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. Cedric smiled at Oliver and waved until Marcus sent him a glare which made him immediately put his hands down.

"Listen, Wood, we all have a problem with your constant booking sessions for the pitch," Roger said, crossing his arms over his chest. If Oliver didn't know any better, he'd have thought Roger was attempting to copy the stance of Marcus whose scowl was much more intimidating.

"So fucking knock it off and cut your hours," Marcus ordered but Oliver ignored him.

"I wish you wouldn't curse so much, Marcus…" Cedric attempted.

"Fuck you, Ced."

"I booked the sessions first, you all just get in line behind me," Oliver said, pushing past Roger. "Early bird and all that."

Marcus was ready to storm toward Oliver and knock his head in if Cedric hadn't held him back. "Will you all stop it?" Cedric said, "If you want more hours on the pitch, book them next week before Wood and claim the spots. There is no use beating each other up over it like a bunch of children."

"He's the one acting like a child!" Oliver shouted, pointing at Marcus accusingly. Marcus scoffed.

"Yeah, pointing, that's really mature," he spat.

"Guys, I, uh, have a girl to meet later? Can we wrap this up?" Roger asked, looking at his wristwatch nervously, his eyes darting from Marcus to Oliver.

"Tell you what, Davis," Marcus began, smirking cruelly at him, "You give me half of Ravenclaw's hours on the pitch this week and I won't kick the shit out of you for shagging my girlfriend. Deal?"

Oliver shook his head, disgusted, while Cedric sighed. Roger blanched silently and nodded.

"Good, it's settled then," Marcus said, shoving Roger aside and starting off. "See you assholes on the field."

"Bye, Marcus!" Cedric called then shook his head with a sigh. "No social skills, that one."

"Wanker," Oliver muttered.

"Merlin, I thought he was going to strangle me," Roger mumbled, holding onto his neck, thankful he hadn't lost it. "You'll tell me if he's after my blood about the whole shagging Frieda thing right, Diggory?"

"Yeah, sure," Cedric said to Roger's retreating back. Roger was heading into the Great Hall, his hand still on his neck. He still looked very relieved to have his neck still attached to his body. Cedric and Oliver looked at each other awkwardly. "Well, nice talking to you, Wood. I'm going to head to class early. Good look on the field, yeah?"

Oliver nodded. "Right. Bye."

As Cedric walked into the Great Hall after Davis, Oliver was again alone. Or at least, he thought he was.

"Don't mind my brother, Wood. Snape just finished telling him off about being more subtle about his Quidditch plays."

Her voice was still fresh in Oliver's mind so when he turned around to face her, her presence didn't surprise him. What did surprise him however was the presence of Chris Warrington, Adrian Pucey and Montague (what was that kid's first name anyway?) all standing a good foot behind her looking like her personal body gaurds.

"And by Quidditch play, I of course mean cheating tactics," Mayella explained needlessly while Warrington's glare toward Oliver hardened, Pucey sneered menacingly and Montague clenched his jaw and fists.

"Right, I, uh, I figured that," Oliver said, his eyes managing to meet Mayella's while the boys behind her continued to wordlessly threaten him. She only smiled brightly.

"You left pretty quickly last night."

"Yeah well, I had to sleep you know," Oliver said quickly noticing Warrington take a step forward beside Mayella but Oliver ignored him, frowning a bit at the blonde girl in front of him. "Besides, didn't think you'd want to deal with the halfbreed."

"That's right, she doesn't," Warrington snapped, taking Mayella's hand. "Come on, May, let's go before breakfast is over. Don't know why we had to stop and talk to this prick anyway."

Mayella blinked at Oliver, taking her hand from Warrington's grasp and placed it back at her side. "I knew that's why you were sour. You're very sensitive."

"Mayella," Warrington practically growled. Again, she ignored him.

"Excuse me for taking offence at that comment," Oliver said bitterly, "You had the best of intentions I'm sure."

"Oh, Oliver, really, it's not that big of a deal," Mayella insisted with a nonchalant shrug. "I'll make it up to you though. When are you free? Because I was thinking—"

"Allll-right, May, off we go."

Adrian Pucey took Mayella by the arm and began leading her off, toward the Great Hall and away from Oliver whose smile had begun growing with each word that came out of Mayella's mouth.

Now, Adrian did not pull her away to be a jerk. He did not pull her away because he hated Oliver Wood, or because Montague had nudged him or because Mayella was smiling too big at the enemy (though all those things were true). Oh no, it was simply to save Chris Warrington from another detention. Warrington looked like he was ready to Crucio the Gryffindor captain.

"See yah, Wood!" Pucey called back at a staring Oliver, "Get ready to have your ass kicked come next game!"

"Bye, Woody!" Mayella called, waving her free hand while Adrian held the other.

Chris took it upon himself to pull Mayella's hand down, adding—at least, that's what Adrian observed—much more force than necessary.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Chris spat at her, pulling on her arm. "What was that, huh?"

"Let go of me," Mayella replied simply, not bothering to answer any of his questions. He scowled and shoved her into Adrian.

"Hey! Calm the hell down, Warrington!" Adrian shouted at him, holding Mayella by the shoulders. She scowled right back at Chris, pulling out her wand. "May, don't you start."

"That git was manhandling me!"

"What was that back there, Mayella?!" Chris yelled at her.

"Oh and now you're yelling at me," she said, glaring at him. Adrian sighed, looking at Montague who was leaning against the wall by the entrance to the great hall, watching the dispute with a smirk.

"Kick his ass, May," Montague said. Warrington shot him a scowl.

"For your information, Christopher," Mayella began, unable to hide a smirk at Montague's words, "Wood and I had a brief exchange after he saved me the other day. I called him a name and he got angry. Now I see him on my way to the Great Hall and I felt like mentioning it. That's all."

"Yeah, whatever," Chris spat, storming into the Great Hall. Montague sighed and followed while Mayella put her wand away. Adrian shook his head.

"Give me your hand," he said. Mayella eyed him.

"Why?"

"Come on, May, hand it over," he ordered and she did. Adrian took her arm into his hand, tsking gently as he ran his fingers along the red marks Warrington left on her skin from his grip. "Salazar, that bastard really needs to calm down. When your brother sees this—"

"He won't," Mayella interrupted firmly. "He won't know about Oliver either, will he, Adrian?"

"Of course he will. You think Warrington or Montague won't tell him about it the second they see him? Why do you think they hang around you so much? To report back to him of course."

Mayella scowled, taking her hand back. "He's so ridiculous."

"He just cares about you is all," Adrian said with a shrug. "So why do you want your brother to find out about your little pre-breakfast chat with Wood?"

Mayella scoffed but Adrian detected a light hint of a smirk. "I said I don't want him to, remember?"

"Like hell, May," Adrian said with a grin, taking her hand again, this time entwining his fingers with hers affectionately. "You're a smart girl. You wouldn't have done something with Wood in front of us if you didn't want him to find out. What's up?"

Smiling, she gave Adrian's hand a squeeze and shrugged, leading him into the Great Hall.

"Marcus needs to learn to mind his own business is all I'm saying. Do you think they'll have chocolate chip waffles today, Adrian?"

"I doubt it, May," Adrian replied, letting her hand go as they walked up the aisle of Slytherin's long table, "Do you really think I won't tell Marcus what you just said about him?"

She didn't reply immediately. Instead, she took a seat, filled her plate with fruit and toast and turned to cast Adrian a small, secretive smile as he sat down beside her.

"I'm counting on it."

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

**A/N: I missed this a lot. Hopefully the updates will become more regular. **

**Review! 8D**


	6. Silences

**Chapter Six: Silences**

Marcus liked to think he was blessed with a very well behaved sister. While Montague whined about his older sister shagging all his friends, Marcus could revel knowing that his own sister had a ridiculously high level of loathing for most males she came across and got along generally well with his friends. So, he could laugh at Montague's strife (and mentally remember Paullina Mongague's nude figure very clearly in his head) without any sibling anguish of his own. When Bletchley bitched about his younger sisters who kept sending him dungbombs to him in the mail, Marcus could easily mock him, considering his own sister was the model of obedience. She would never be so ridiculous or vindictive as to send him dung bombs of all things.

However, when Warrington finished reporting about Mayella's latest interaction with Oliver Wood and when that story was confirmed by both Montague and Adrian Pucey, Marcus abandoned all thoughts of being a lucky brother.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me?" Marcus asked Mayella one rainy October Day. He had been putting off confronting her about her interaction with Oliver Wood for about a week. If what Pucey said was true, then Mayella wanted him to know of her increased interaction with Oliver Wood and Marcus didn't like that she was playing with him. He couldn't help but noticed her hallway chats with the Gryffindor captain and the small smiles and hand-waves she would send him in potions class. It didn't help that Chris was constantly down Marcus' back to do something about it.

The common room was packed with students but Mayella had managed to secure a couch all to herself so Marcus took a seat beside her, making sure to take her book from her hand. "And pay attention."

"Marcus!" she whined, reaching for the book while her brother smirked, momentarily forgetting his anger at her choices in whom she communicated with. "Give it back you big git!"

"Nuh uh, May, not until you confess every dirty little deed you've been up to," he ordered, almost playfully, holding her back from her book with one hand.

"What did Christopher tell you?" she asked, abandoning her attempts to get her book back, instead leaning on her brother's shoulder.

"Enough to make me want to beat Wood's jaw in so that he never talks to you again," Marcus mumbled. Mayella smiled.

"Wood was angry with me for a bit. I called him a halfbreed."

Marcus grinned. "Very nice. Getting close with him to tear him down?"

"No. Just getting close with him."

Scowling, Marcus pulled away from her. "_What_? What do you mean by that?"

He was beginning to hate her smile. Like she was hiding something. "I knew you'd flip."

"Are you trying to get me to flip? Because it's fucking working," Marcus said with a scowl, shoving her lightly, "Stop talking to him."

"That's not very fair," she muttered but he ignored her.

"Seriously, stop it. I don't know what you're trying to pull with him but he's not your type and certainly not good enough for you," Marcus said, so sure with what he was instructing that he added in a quick nod.

"Who's good enough for me?"

"No one. Naturally."

Marcus rose from his seat, patting Mayella's head as if she was an obedient puppy. She scowled, wrenching her head away and shoved his lower torso. He grinned, grabbed a pillow and hit her with it.

"Marcus! My _hair_!" she whined, patting down her blonde hair which was done up in a neat ponytail. "It took ages to get the bangs up! _Ugh_."

"Whine, whine, whine," he said, nonetheless tucking her loose bangs behind her ears affectionately. "Listen, I'm going out to the pitch. We're going to watch Gryffindor practice for a couple minutes."

"It's pouring out there, why are they practicing in this kind of weather?" Mayella asked.

"Because Quidditch does not stop for bad weather," Marcus answered with a smirk, signaling for Warrington, Pucey, Montague, Bole and Derrick to join his side with a nod of his head. "You want to come?"

"And catch a cold? No thanks, I have enough homework to keep on top of as it is."

"That's what you get for sticking with Arithmancy for so long," Adrian said, the first of the team to arrive beside Marcus. Draco was soon beside him. "Oy, Malfoy, your arm's not healed yet?"

"Nope," Draco said, exchanging a smirk with Marcus, "Unfortunately, it's going to be wounded for an uncertain amount of time."

Adrian smiled. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us, May?"

Mayella was about to answer when Chris Warrington, with the rest of the team behind him, came to Marcus's side. Marcus wasn't sure of the reason why she and Chris exchanged dark glares or why Adrian was staring fixedly at Mayella's shoes.

"Definitely not," Mayella said firmly and Marcus glanced at Warrington who shrugged.

"Can we go now?"

Marcus nodded, giving May a small wave and started leading the team out of the Slytherin common room, down the hall and out the grounds door. It was not until they got on the grounds that they broke the silence. The rain had stopped momentarily but that did not stop Bole and Derrick from taking large and heavy steps into puddles and aiming the muck at the back of Montague's robes. Warrington took out a flask of what Marcus assumed was vodka (Chris's choice drink) and took a sip, passing it to Pucey who declined and was therefore mocked by Warrington. Meanwhile, Draco whined about not being able to drink with them.

"Oh come on, Chris, I want a sip!" Draco said with a pathetic pout. "I promise I won't tell!"

"You're such a pussy, Pucey," Chris was saying, ignoring Draco as he took another sip from his flask, "No alcohol for you, huh? _Please_. Pussy Pucey. I should start calling you that from now on."

Adrian, to his credit, ignored him. Marcus was almost impressed.

"Pussy Pucey. Pussy Pucey. I like it. It has a very nice ring to it."

"_Please_, Warrington? I'll take the part Adrian doesn't want! Come on, just a little taste!"

"It's very catchy. I like the alliteration. But it sort of gives off a false pretense that says you get laid when in reality, Pussy Pucey doesn't really _get_ any pu—"

"Will you shut up?" Adrian interrupted Chris, blushing, while Derrick and Bole sniggered behind Montague, having abandoned their game of mucking up their larger friend's robes.

"_Pussy Pucey_," Chris continued with a smirk, taking a long swig from the flask. He lightly slammed the flask into Draco's chest, causing the younger boy to halt in his steps and almost falter, but beamed when he realized what he was now holding. Marcus quickly took it from him, causing a "Hey!" from Draco. The last thing he wanted was Lucius Malfoy on his case about getting his thirteen year old son drunk. Maybe when Draco was fourteen.

"Stop it, Chris," Adrian muttered while Bole and Derrick started a light background chorus consisting of "Pussy Pucey" over and over again.

But Chris did not stop. Marcus suspected—mainly due to the half empty flask—that Warrington had been drinking long before they entered the grounds. "What is it with you, anyway? You may as well be a bloody Hufflepuff, you know that? You listening, Puce? You're pathetic. I still don't understand what that was a week ago before breakfast. Think I can't take Wood or something? Or did you just want me out of the way so you could be alone with her? The way you're all over—"

"Chris hurt your sister," Adrian blurted out, over Bole and Derrick's chanting, over Montague's sniggering and over Warrington's drunken rant. Marcus raised a brow. "He grabbed her arm really tightly, dragging her along. She had bruises. He was ordering her around, yelling at her and he shoved her. It was—"

Adrian would have continued if it was not for the fist that came colliding with his jaw. Warrington was quickly overpowering the younger boy, throwing another punch at Adrian.

"Hey!" Marcus exclaimed, pushing the flask into Draco's hands as he went to pull Warrington off Pucey. "That's enough!"

Montague held Warrington back while Bole helped Pucey up. "You okay?" Bole asked, smirking with amusement. Marcus was not so amused.

"What the fuck was that, Chris?! We have a Quidditch cup to win! I can't afford my chasers kicking the snot out of each other!"

"Sorry," Warrington mumbled, glaring at Adrian who was wiping his lower lip with his sleeve. It had started drizzling and suddenly Marcus was not so interested in watching Gryffindor.

"No you're not but you will be if I hear you've touched my sister again," Marcus threatened darkly, narrowing his eyes at the younger man. "Got me?"

Warrington nodded, pushing past Montague and storming back toward the castle. The boys looked to Marcus for what to do next and were met by Marcus' glare. He gritted his teeth, turning back to Adrian. Letting some anger out on the fifth year, he shoved Adrian roughly and sent him staggering into a tree.

"When did you plan on telling me he hurt her, huh?"

Adrian scowled. "I thought she would."

"It doesn't matter whether she would have or not! That's why I let you hang around her so much, Pucey! To report back to me every little detail of her day! That's not so hard is it?"

"No," Adrian mumbled, looking away. Marcus only scowled, starting back toward the castle while the rain increased.

"Get moving back inside. No use in catching our deaths. Adrian, we're going to have a _talk_ later."

With that, the rest of the team wordlessly followed Marcus back into the castle. Their trudge back to the dungeon was only broken when Draco made a distinct barfing sound, smacking the top of his mouth with his tongue distastefully and holding out the flask of vodka away from him.

"Ew, that stuff's _gross_."

Derrick scoffed, taking the flask from him and handing it to Marcus, patting his Captain's back. "Owl us when you're team captain, kid. That's when you'll need it. Right, Flint?"

Marcus scowled, twisting open the cap and downing a generous amount. It burned all the way down his throat.

"Right."

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

The team (except Chris) had all returned about five minutes before Marcus and Adrian. I was secretly pleased that Christopher was missing considering our unspoken argument. When Marcus and Adrian returned, his team had already dispersed among the common room. Marcus looked angry while Adrian hid his face, immediately making a bee line toward his dorms. Marcus ignored him, only instructing his team to wake up at dawn for practice before leaving the common room without Frieda (I would hear of her irritation at this for most of that week), and sent a nod at Adrian whose back was facing the rest of the common room.

"Are you okay, Draco? You don't look well," Pansy Parkinson said as she walked past me alongside Draco Malfoy. His cheeks were pink but he quickly shook it off.

"Nah, I'm fine," he said, then twisted his features into a smirk, "You should see Pucey."

I raised a brow, getting up quickly to find that Adrian had already descended to the boys dormitories, his head bowed and rubbing the back of his neck. Forgetting propriety, I followed him silently into the boys dorms, not wanting to draw attention to myself. Catching up with him, I tapped him on the shoulder, just as he was opening the door to his room.

"Is everything okay, Adrian?" I asked, leaning against the arch of his door. He sighed, turning to face me and I could clearly see the blood on his lip and two black eyes. "Salazar! What happened?"

I cupped his cheeks, wincing for him as I steered his head down to look at me. Despite his being two years younger than me, Adrian was still taller.

"Your brother got pissed at me."

"Adrian," I began with a frown, biting my lip as I inspected his wounds, "Did he do this to you?"

"No, this was Warrington," he answered quietly, blushing lightly. I scowled and crossed my arms over my chest.

"That _jerk_, what was he _thinking_?"

"Don't worry about it," he mumbled, going into his room. I followed him, frowning as I watched him pull out a handkerchief and wipe his bleeding lip. I shook my head, taking my wand out.

"For a Quidditch player, you don't know much about healing charms, do you?" I said, pointing my wand at his lip and muttering a healing spell. He smiled, wiping the dry blood from his healed lip.

"That's what I have you for," he said, still quiet and still red in the face. "Do you know how to heal bruises too?"

"Hold still," I ordered and healed his two bruised eyes. He exhaled as if he was holding his breath, rubbing his eyes. "Feel better?"

"No," he muttered, plopping down on his bed.

"I'm still not quite sure what happened," I said, sitting down beside him. He took my hand, his light eyes fixed on our entwined fingers and remained silent. I allowed the silence for a couple seconds before nudging him lightly. "Spill."

He smiled. "Go out with me?"

I raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Be my date for Hogsmeade on Halloween?" he asked, face bright red again. I smiled, rolling my eyes playfully.

"Adrian, you're fifteen. I'm going to be eighteen."

"I'll be sixteen in December!"

"Is this about your argument with Chris?" I asked, pulling my hand from his. He frowned.

"Maybe."

"What _happened_?"

Sighing, he lay back on his bed, his feet on the floor. I resisted the urge to lay back beside him. Normally, I was very comfortable with Adrian. Of all my "body guards", he and I got along the best. Suddenly, I wanted the story and then I wanted to leave the room as quickly as possible.

"Chris was mocking me. Saying stupid shit. I got pissed, told your brother about his handling you last week and then Chris punched me. Your brother pulled him off, told him off, told me off and shoved me and then we went back inside. And Draco drank straight vodka."

I blinked. "I see."

Ignoring any discomfort, I lay back beside him. He only moved a hand to rest it over his stomach, not acknowledging me.

"Yeah."

We lay in silence for a short time until I rose to stand, unable to bear the uncomfortable quiet of the room, and mildly brushing my hair down with my fingers.

"I'm going to go."

"Where?" he asked, perking up. He sat up and very briefly, I felt his fingers brush my leg. "I'll go with you."

"I don't know if I want to be alone with you. You might start hitting on me or something silly like that," I said, smirking smally.

"Nah, I'm saving that for tomorrow at breakfast," he said with an equally small smile.

"Oh how wonderful. Do little notes asking whether or not I like you come at lunch?"

"Completely with 'check yes or no' boxes."

I smiled and shook my head. "I'll think about it, Adrian."

He nodded, breaking into a smile too. He looked relieved, like he was holding his breath. "Alright. You can reply on one of the notes I'll send you."

"Only if you draw lots of hearts over our initials," I added, though my smile became fixed. He nodded and I headed out of the room, resisting the urge to hit my palm against my head repeatedly

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Oliver emerged from the Gryffindor Quidditch lockers later than the rest of his team. He had stayed on the field after practice to observe the clarity of his sight in the rain, test the softness of the ground and take notes on the possible maneuvers they could accomplish against Slytherin in that kind of weather. Oliver noticed that Flint had not put Slytherin down for the field as much as he normally did and Oliver knew it had to do with that pathetic Slytherin distaste of getting dirty.

'Spoiled, snooty, pureblood brats', he thought to himself as he left the locker room after a long shower, clean and fully clothed. 'Speaking of which…'

"Hey, Ella," he greeted her with a smile. She was leaning against the wall outside the entrance to the Gryffindor lockers, for once not in one of those small skirts she always wore. The pony tail of her hair was not perfect either, as Oliver detected obvious frizz and bangs that were all tucked messily behind her ears. "You look nice."

"Shush," she scolded immediately, crossing her arms over her chest, "This constant rain is not good for all my hair straightening charms."

Leaning against the wall beside her, Oliver dropping his bag to his feet. "Saw some curls when I saved you from the Squid that day but only a bit because your hair was tied. I didn't know your hair wasn't naturally straight."

She shook her head, smiling, "You don't know anything _natural_ about me."

He tilted his head, unsure of what to say to that. Though he was sure she wasn't serious, and was being playful in tone, he knew that her comment was otherwise right on target.

"So tell me about yourself."

"Mm," she began, sinking down against the shed to sit on the wet and dirty ground, "I'm fat. Give me compliments because I'm a silly insecure girl and I need them."

He grinned, shaking his head. "Figured you wouldn't say anything."

"You tell me about _your_self."

"I'm fat. Give me compliments," he replied almost immediately, sinking down next to her, pushing his bag aside.

"Oh ha ha," she said, rolling her eyes but smiled. They both sat against the shed silently for a few minutes before either spoke. Oliver resisted the urge to continuously glance at her, instead keeping his eyes forward. She was first to break the silence. "I've been straightening my hair since I was eleven and a half when Frieda Gudgeon called Ginger Jugson a 'moppy frizzball' in our first year. I originally had some older years help me but I learned fairly quickly how to hide any curls."

"That's too bad," Oliver said, "They didn't look so terrible."

"Ugh, it's a mess."

They fell into silence again. It was a fairly comfortable silence, and both Oliver and Mayella were clearly lost in thought. She tilted her head back, looking up at the overhanging roof that blocked the light rain from completely soaking them. Oliver's eyes traveled from the tip of her upturned nose to her collarbone before he shook his head and turned to face forward.

"When I as four, my dad took me to a Quidditch game—last Quidditch game before the Ministry shut down the League until the First War was over. The Bristol Bicorns' Keeper hurt his leg but it was the last game he'd ever play, what with the war and all, so he kept on going. You could see his leg bleeding and his bones bent out of shape—hell, you could see him _sweating_—but he saved every goal that they threw at him that day. Bicorns still lost because the other team got the snitch but it was the best game of my life. I started flying right after it."

"So that's how your Quidditch fanatic self was born."

"Mmhm. That's the big secret."

Again, neither student said anything. Mayella had pulled her legs close to her to rest her chin on her knees, facing forward.

"When I was fourteen, I realized my brother is an asshole."

"Better late than never," Oliver mumbled and Mayella smirked, reaching over to shove him lightly. He grinned back "What caused the epiphany?"

"He beat up the first guy that asked me out. Beat him up horribly. Put him in the hospital wing for three days. I still see Rufus Polydeukes at parties my father makes me attend and I can't even look at him without wanting to blush. He was a very nice boy too."

"So, your brother beat the kid up just because he asked you out?"

"Well I'm sure there was another reason on top of that. I just… forgot."

"If you forgot that other reason then it must not have been a very good reason," Oliver said with a scowl, unable to understand such justification, "Why would you let him do that to the poor kid?"

"I didn't _let_ him," she said, frowning defensively, "I heard about it afterward. I didn't talk to Marcus for a while after that."

"But then you turned right back around and forgave him, right?" Oliver accused. He almost felt bad at his attitude but Marcus Flint was a subject he could never be pleasant about.

"Stop it, Oliver."

Oliver opened his mouth to protest once again but at her soft order, he backed down. Instead of a retort, he gently stated, "He's very harsh. You two turned out really different."

"We're not that different," Mayella quickly said, pulling the hair tie from her hair in order to tie her pony tail back up into a messy bun. The rain was falling harder but Mayella seemed to be more interested in choosing her words carefully than in fretting over her attire. "Like… we share the same political beliefs and friends and we agree on a lot of stuff. Like family. And… sometimes I can see where he's coming from, like when he makes stupid decisions. I agree with him a lot of time, but he just has a different way of approaching issues than I do. But I understand him."

"Like politics, huh? Both of you are drones of the same pureblood political beliefs right?" Oliver once again accused harshly. She opened her mouth to retort but Oliver beat her to it, "And both into cheating right? And treating people like shit, no matter who they are and only looking out for—"

"Stop it! You don't even know my brother!"

"I know him plenty! Why are you defending him?!"

"I'll defend whomever I like!" she shouted right back at him, no longer situated close to him. Oliver did not let himself miss their previous closeness as he scowled at her.

"He's a jackass and you know it!"

"He's my family! The whole world can hate him but I'll still defend him!" she shouted. Her eyes were narrowed at him angrily but instead of feeling threatened like he was sure Mayella intended, Oliver only felt bad for offending her. He did not mean to push her so roughly into a subject they both were obviously biased about.

He swallowed, facing forward to escape her glare. "I'm sorry."

There was a silence once again. Oliver waited sixteen seconds (he counted) before scooting closer to her once again and she did not hesitate as she leaned on his shoulder.

"I think I have a hard time remembering that not everyone likes my brother," she said quietly. Oliver smiled weakly.

"And I know I have a hard time remembering that not everyone hates him either."

Sighing, Mayella snuggled her head into the crook of Oliver's neck. In order to make them both more comfortable (he reasoned this later), Oliver put an arm around her shoulder.

"When I was twelve, I realized your brother is an asshole."

"What did he do?"

"I had just made reserve Keeper for the Gryffindor team. Your brother had just made Chaser. I didn't play a single game that year—and a lot of reserves didn't—but your brother would not stop endlessly taunting me about it. He'd see me in the hallway and ask if I was sitting out any classes or trip me and say that I'm going to need a reserve if I keep falling over my own feet… and—ya' know—call me a halfbreed because my mum's muggleborn. Stupid things like that."

Mayella had tilted her face up to look at him, frowning. Oliver only looked back at her impassively, not wanting to let on how much the name-calling bothered him. She had already called him sensitive for taking offense when she called him a halfbreed. He did not want to encourage her to say anything again.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, her eyes downcast. She sighed, leaning back up against him. Oliver was glad she was not looking because he smiled and nuzzled his cheek against her frizzy and wet hair.

"It's not your fault he's a prat sometimes. Well, more like _all_ the time."

"I _get_ it, you hate him. Beating the dead centaur and all that," Mayella commented with a shake of her head. Oliver smiled. The rain was falling more heavily on them and the overhanging roof of the shed no longer shielded them but, surprisingly, this did not seem to bother Mayella. Oliver was under the impression that she would go crazy once the rain became heavier but she remained still, her head comfortably on his shoulder, her mind obviously elsewhere.

"I like you," Mayella suddenly stated. Oliver blinked, unsure of what to say. Taking advantage of his bewildered silence, Mayella leaned up so that her forehead was leaning against his. Blushing, Oliver watched her closely as her nose grazed against his and her lips seemed to taunt Oliver with their short distance away from his own. He could see every light freckle sprinkling her nose and every out of place eye lash.

"I.. like you too," he whispered, hesitantly raising his hand to cup her cheek.

She smiled.

"Let's be friends."

Oliver tried to control his furious blush as her lips continued to taunt him. He closed his eyes, attempting to ignore her. Blocking out her scent, the warmth of her body, the raindrops hitting her skin, and that horrible, snide smile teasing his obvious confusion was not easy. However, if it was game she wanted, then he would play it. Swallowing, he managed to cool his cheeks down.

He pecked her lightly, letting his lips linger against hers for longer than was necessary.

"Friends."

Now she was blushing and Oliver resisted the urge to smirk triumphantly.

"Let's go," she muttered, getting up and brushing herself off. A clump of dirt was stuck to her pants and the hem of her pant leg was muddy and soggy and even her shirt was littered with wet patches but she was focused on brushing away invisible dust. She was still blushing.

Oliver let his smirk shine through, nodding as he led the way back toward the castle, his bag over his shoulder. It was not until they were half way toward the door that Mayella, lips pursed and jaw set, began to walk much faster than him. Oliver was slightly disappointed that her cheeks were no longer pink but amused at her attitude.

"What's up with you?"

"Nothing," she snapped quickly, arms crossed over her chest. Oliver ran in front of her quickly, halting her momentarily.

"I don't think so. What was that back there?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She attempted to push past him and would have succeeded if not for how Oliver took her lightly by the waist and nearly carried her back in front of him, dropping his Quidditch bag on the ground in the process. She yelped and Oliver nearly let her go but then he heard her stifled laughter and continued to hold on tightly.

"Let go!"

"No way," he growled playfully, his arms back around her waist, spinning her around. She sounded as if she was having trouble deciding whether to laugh or scream.

"Oliver Wood! You put me down right now!" she ordered and he discontinued the spin—mainly because he was dizzy himself. But he did not want to let go of her. Instead, he nuzzled his face into her hair, kissing her head from behind since his arms were still around the back of her waist. "Stop being silly."

"I have you right where I want you, d'ya know that?" he muttered into her ear playfully. He felt her ears grow warm. "Right where I wanted you when I first saw you this evening."

"Really?" she asked softly and Oliver detected that she was speaking through a smirk, "And why do you want me in this position, Oliver Wood?"

He grinned, leaning in closer to her. She did not move, instead inspecting him cautiously, with both a blush and a smile. He quickly pulled the hair tie from her messy bun, causing her locks of loose curls to fall around her shoulder and then, just as quickly, made a run for it. She screeched.

"UGH! OLIVER! Give me back my hair tie! _Salazar_."

"You have to catch me first, Princess! I'm not going to make it easy either; I've wanted to see those curls of yours all evening!" he called back to her, running into the castle and quickly down the hall. He could hear her footsteps behind him and just as he was turning around to make a face at her, he tripped.

Rubbing his undoubtedly bruised knees, he sat up on his elbow, finding that Mayella was towering over him, her wand out and a hand on her lip, holding his dirty Quidditch bag out of him. She dropped the bag on the floor beside his feet.

"Trip jynx. Comes in handy."

Oliver grinned, holding out the hair tie for her but not before absorbing her curls. They made her hair look shorter but Oliver did not miss the normally pristine golden halo of straight blonde hair that usually cascaded around her. Instead, he enjoyed the wild, frizzy loose curls that hung around her like vines in the jungle.

She snatched the tie from him almost immediately, disrupting Oliver's thoughts, and quickly tied her hair in a messy knot on top of her head. She missed her bangs however and they remained curly and untamed, bouncing around her face.

"That wasn't funny," she growled in spite of Oliver's smile. His smile only widened and he held out a hand to her.

"Help me up?"

She 'hmphed' haughtily but took his hand nonetheless, pulling Oliver to his feet with an "oomph!'. He smirked, ruffling her hair with a chuckle as she shoved him off lightly, giggling herself.

"You think you're so cute."

"_You _think I'm so cute," he retorted.

"I think you're so difficult."

"Says the Flint," Oliver said, shaking his head with some amusement but mostly bewilderment. He was in the first floor Hallway toward the kitchens with Marcus Flint's sister of all people. "If he knew that I was here with you now—"

"Must you constantly bring him up?" Mayella muttered. Oliver frowned.

"Well he's an ever present figure in your life," Oliver said, "Thought it's a common topic for us considering he's an ever present pain in my neck. Since he's a ruddy bastard and all."

She was shaking her head, not looking at him. "_Stop it._"

"Why, because it's far from the truth? I really doubt that. What, is he some misunderstood saint to you? You don't even try to—…Where are you going?!"

"Back to my common room. I don't need to hear this."

Her back was to Oliver and she was walking quickly down toward where they came from. Oliver mentally scolded himself, immediately flooded with regret at his harsh words, and tore after her.

"Ella, wait!"

"Why should I? You're really giving me no reason to be in your presence. You're proving every horrible thing I've heard about you."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean what I said," Oliver said, taking her wrist. She turned to face him again, stonily, jerking her hand back to her sides. She was glaring. "He just.. I shouldn't have been so mean about him. I don't even know him."

"That's right, you don't," Mayella immediately snapped, though her glare softened.

"I won't do it again."

She frowned, rubbing her shoulder. "It's alright. I mean, you can say things about him. Someone should be able to. Just… don't…"

She broke off, looking uncomfortable. "I'm not responsible for what he does. It's not like he tells me beforehand or anything."

Oliver paused, watching her closely. His brows were furred as he admitted, "I know. I'm sorry. But.. you're not like him. I didn't like you saying that you were alike before."

Oliver was quiet, unable to meet her eyes. It was true that his mind kept nagging him about her relation and how alike they were but every other part of him did not see Marcus Flint's harsh exterior, ruthless interior and any horrible quality that he possessed in Mayella Flint. He only saw, and wanted to see, the spoiled, good natured princess waiting outside the Quidditch shed in the rain, with her hair frizzing and clothes dirty.

Oliver's thoughts were broken when he felt her nudge him lightly.

"Go get your bag. Go back to your common room. I'll go back to mine"

With that, she turned to go. Oliver stared after her until she reached the end of the hallway, nearly stepping into the main atrium entrance. It was then that he called after her, slowly walking toward her with a frown.

"Wait, Ella!" he said, standing in front of her. He tilted his head, observing her with scrutiny and frowning. "That's it?"

"What's it?" she asked, arms crossed over her chest. Oliver was reminded of Roger Davis, mimicking Marcus Flint's tough stance and hard glare but failing miserably to produce any intimidated response from Oliver.

"We're still friends, aren't we?"

She sighed, looking around paranoid, as if one of her body gaurds was lurking around the corner. "Look, Oliver, it was fun playing around."

Frowning, Oliver narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm a game to you?"

"No. I said it was fun playing around, I did not call you—"

"I like you, El," Oliver said, taking her hand softly, "You said we're friends. I can be friends with you."

She pulled her hand away but moves closer to him. "And that's very nice but I can't be friends with you."

"Why were you waiting for me outside the shed?" he asked quietly, his hands slipping around her waist.

"I wasn't waiting for you, I was—it was raining out and there was shade and—oh don't give me that smirk," she finished weakly, smiling back nonetheless but shaking her head. Oliver grinned, pulling her closer to him. He wanted to see every freckle on her nose again. "Don't," she protested softly, almost whispering, "We're friends."

Oliver was silent.

With Mayella, he always chose he actions very carefully. Maybe not his words, considering the fights they've had over her brother, but always his actions. However, his decision to peck her lightly, allowing his lips to linger longer than necessary on her own, was the first action that he did all night withought putting much thought into.

"Friends," he whispered, removing his arms from around her, tearing his gaze from her face and moving to reach for his bag. She stared at him as he picked it up and walked past her. "Goodnight, Ella."

She swallowed. "Goodnight."

Neither were smiling as they headed in opposite directions, one into the dungeons and the other into the northern Gryffindor tower. Instead, the only grin came from another figure, her pearly white teeth betraying her curvy, hidden figure as she immerged from the darkness of one of Roger Davis' Hallway Alcoves.

She was grinning as if Christmas came early all the way into Slytherin common room.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

o o o o o o o o

**A/N: Yaaay another chapter! Sorry this took so long. I meant to have it out sooner but just as I was finishing, my laptop overheated and shut down on me and that killed any inspiration I had, unfortunately. But it's up now! I think I'm satisfyed with it hahah. A LITTLE. hah.**

**Anyway, please review! Reviews inspire me to update quicker ;)**

**PS: If you haven't seen The Dark Knight GO SEE IT OMG ITS THE BEST MOVIE EVER. I saw it TWICE and oh man oh man I WANNA GO AGAIN. hahah.**


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